Dalton
by JohnnysGotAnAddiction
Summary: Kurt's been transferred to Dalton Academy - The notorious institute led by staff that stop at nothing to cure homosexuality in the boys that end up there... AU, homophobia, bad language, sex, general other naughty stuff.
1. The Ring

**This fic has and will take influences from the film _The Magdalene Sisters_, the book _A Better Place_, and unfortunately, real life situations that still happen to people and take place today :(**

**I don't own Glee, or the characters from it, make no profit from it, blah blah...  
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**It's AU. I won't go into how, everything will be [hopefully :)] answered in the story :)**

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><p>"Try to relax, Kurt."<p>

A month had passed since he had been transferred to Dalton Academy and Kurt Hummel had sure as hell learned in that time that a smart ass comment to a stupid remark like that would get him into big trouble, and so he kept his mouth shut. But it _was_ a stupid remark. How the hell could he relax? He had been stripped completely naked and ordered to lie down on a stainless steel examination table, after which he had been forcibly restrained to the table by three orderlies who then proceeded to apply thick straps across his chest, bounding his arms by their sides. He couldn't move and most certainly couldn't relax. How the hell could he relax when he had this thing around his… _thing_?

Oh god. Kurt looked down as best as he could at the steel ring attached to the base of his penis and tried not to whimper. Even if he hadn't been informed by his peers in hushed tones about 'the ring', he still would have been scared because the situation he was facing was just terrifying. He forced himself to draw his eyes away from down there and stared straight up ahead at the plain white ceiling as orderlies in plain white gowns busied themselves, attaching various wires to his body. Kurt's eyes followed to where the wires led and he just about managed to turn his head enough to see them hooked up to some high-tech machine a bit behind him, equally as white as the coats and the ceiling and the walls of the sterile room he was being held captive in.

"Keep still, Kurt."

Kurt turned his head back and stared again at the ceiling. The weary tones of Dr. Lawrence were almost kind, well, as close to kind as the staff at Dalton got anyway and it almost relaxed him. Almost. He couldn't fully relax though; he knew what he was up against, knew what was about to come. The ring was Notorious with a capital N - and in a place like Dalton, this was a Very Big Deal indeed. Kurt closed his eyes and prayed. He hadn't, or didn't ever believe in a god but he prayed anyway. Prayed to something he wasn't sure existed. Prayed to something, _anything_ that was listening that they would burst in and rescue him - release him from the constraints of the table, to grab his hand and run, run, run away from the school without a backwards glance and guide him back home.

Home.

The word was like a steel fist to Kurt's stomach. Home was where his father was and his father was the one that sent him here, had even sacrificed his own honeymoon to his new wife in order to fund his stay here. Kurt had begged, bargained and even unabashedly sobbed his reluctance at being sent away to the infamous Dalton Academy. His father had sighed and looked away, unable to meet his eyes. Told him the institute would be good for him, would make a man out of him. That it would be better for him and for the family as a whole because Lima was not the right place for him, but not to worry Kurt, because Dalton would mould him into eventually fitting in.

"This is going to hurt me a lot more than it hurts you, Kurt." Dr. Lawrence's voice was grave and his sympathy sounded almost believable to Kurt. Almost. "We'll run through a couple of the test slides first of all, I think."

From the corners of his eyes, he saw Dr. Lawrence give a slight nod to one of the orderlies, who looked just about ready to wet himself with the exciting anticipation of what Kurt was about to go through. The orderly pressed several buttons and then turned back to the experiment, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. From his command, the bright white lights on the walls of the room began to dim and an image of book appeared in front of Kurt; projected onto the ceiling above him so he was forced to look at it from his bound position. The book disappeared and then a picture of a television materialised in front of him. Followed by a picture of an ipod, a bowl of soup and finally an image of a woman in a bikini.

Thirty seconds or so went by before the last image disappeared on the ceiling and one of the orderlies smirked, "No reaction," as if Kurt had done something wrong. Kurt closed his eyes. "Open your eyes Hummel," the same orderly snapped viciously.

"That'll do, David," Dr. Lawrence shot back, equally as snappy. "I'd like to remind you that you're merely an observer in this exercise, as favour to Principal Lowry. If you do not be quiet I shall inform him that this little deal you have going on cannot continue."

David Karofksy mumbled something under his breath but kept quiet all the same and Kurt was momentarily grateful, until he realised that Karofksy would make sure he paid for that later. Ever since the first day he had been transferred to Dalton, Karofsky seemed to have it in for him. What made matters worse was that due to the structure of Dalton Academy, each new boy was assigned a 'mentor': an older boy who had been through the rigmarole and eventually granted their graduation from Dalton, but who saw fit to extend their stay there in order to help others. Dalton was meant to have made a fine man out of Dave Karofksy, was supposed to have set him back on the straight and narrow.

So why did his wandering hands grope Kurt whenever they got the opportunity?

A buzzing noise brought Kurt back to the present and an image of a shirtless man with bulging muscles appeared on the ceiling. Kurt had never thought of himself as a sexual being. At first, growing up, he put it down to being different, to being gay. But as he had gotten older, he knew that it wasn't because of this. Maybe it was because of everything he had been through? How he had been told over and over again until it was engraved forever in his mind that what he was and what he was attracted to was wrong. Maybe it was just the way he was wired? All the same, a shirtless guy was a shirtless guy and Kurt realised in horror that he was getting turned on. And that meant…

"Positive reaction," Karofsky confirmed, writing something on a notepad. His eyes met Kurt's and Kurt could see the twisted hatred that lay in them.

Dr. Lawrence nodded thoughtfully. "Begin the correction procedure," he replied, and Karofsky was only all too pleased to comply with his order. And then…

The pain was so unbearable that it was like nothing else Kurt had experienced in his entire life, even when he was eight and fell of his bicycle that one time and broke his arm _and_ leg. It hurt so much that he didn't feel anything for a few seconds - it took his body a while to register that he was actually feeling pain. But when the signals eventually reached his brain and told him that actually, he was suffering from the worst pain in his life and he started to feel it, he certainly wished to god he hadn't. The ring was emitting painful electric shocks into the base of his penis that felt like a thousand sharp knives being stabbed into it at once, or a red hot poker being held mercilessly against it trying to kill off the inklings of an erection. A sheen of sweat adorned his whole body and beads of sweat started to drip from his hair and trickle down his face.

For a few seconds, Kurt made no noise, unable to scream as he choked on garbled yelps that got stuck in the bottom of his throat. But then his voice came back and he screamed as loud as he could - not because he hoped someone would hear him and help him (yeah right, this 'experiment' he was being forced to take was Dalton's sinister idea of 'help') but because it was the only way he could deal with the pain he was feeling right now. He screamed in a pitch that he didn't think was humanly possible for a boy his age and yet he kept screaming, a long, relentless scream that the plain white room just seemed to swallow up inside of it, maybe like so many before him. The electric shocks then subsided, but Kurt's penis still throbbed with pain.

"Please," Kurt begged, sobbing. Karofsky would rip the shit out of him for crying later, but right now he didn't care. He had to bargain with Dr. Lawrence. It was his only way out of this. "Please," he repeated desperately through his tears. "No more, please!"

"This is for your own good, Kurt," Dr. Lawrence said. "Pretty soon this experiment will teach your body not to react to your perverse desire for other men. It will suppress the inappropriate feelings you have and eventually, you'll be normal. Run the next slides."

Again, random pictures appeared on the ceiling above him as Kurt sobbed uncontrollably, knowing what was going to come. His new classmates were right, the ring was pure hell. All the new boys had to go through it. The only light at the end of the tunnel was that apparently, once you'd been at Dalton for a while, and learned to keep your head down and avoid any trouble or bring attention to yourself you generally didn't have to go through the ring… unless you needed punishing for breaking one of the many rules Dalton had. And Dalton had a _lot_ of rules. In his first week of being there, he was stripped, beaten and then forced, head-first, into a huge barrel of freezing cold iced water. That was for not raising his hand in History to ask permission to sneeze. In his second week, he had been summoned to the principals office, forced to bend over the desk, and was then caned twenty times by Principal Lowry. Twenty times for being twenty seconds late to assembly one morning. He thought such shocking and outdated punishments had been abandoned a long time ago, but Dalton was seemingly a place with its own rules, and by being so cut off from mainstream society, it didn't seem there was much that any outsiders could do over what allegedly took place within the school grounds. Through his thoughts Kurt vaguely noticed the image of a sweet looking boy about his age projected onto the ceiling, his smile wide and open and his sparkling eyes made him look so warm, so handsome...

"Positive reaction," one of the other orderlies spoke up and fresh tears leaked from the corners of Kurt's eyes from both fear and frustration. He was gay: of _course_ he was going to get a positive reaction from guys. If he ever stopped, it wouldn't be because this aversion so-called 'therapy' worked, it would be because somewhere, in the back of his mind, something would be programmed to remind him of the pain he went through today. To cut it short: he would simply be too scared to ever be attracted to anyone or anything ever again.

Kurt screamed out loud as a fresh bout of electricity shot through his penis and in turn, a surge of pain coursed the entire length of his body. The restraints were doing a great job of keeping him bound to the cold examination table - Kurt wanted nothing more than to thrash from side to side, to arch his back, _anything_ to get this thing off of him. He thought he was going to throw up from the pain, it was that bad.

"Oh god," he moaned. They were the only words that were intelligible; every other word after that was just garbled random words and moans of pain. He faintly realised the lights on the walls were growing brighter and then saw the concerned face of Dr. Lawrence above him, mouthing something, only he couldn't hear him because he was in a faraway place now, in some black and silent corner in the back of his mind, somewhere safe. It was a defensive and very much automatic response of his body to try and deal with it, just like at his old high school when the bullies terrorised him. It was scary to the point of wild hysterical amusement when he thought back to his old high school and remembered how he thought he was being bullied. If he was being bullied at McKinley, then what he was going through at Dalton was something else entirely. He wanted to go back. He needed to go back. He had to get the hell out of here.

"Kurt." Kurt's eyes eventually focused into view and he was able to concentrate on Dr. Lawrence, who then looked away to face the orderlies standing at the machine. "David, check the correctional setting, please."

"Five," he heard Karofksy reply.

"Five?" Dr. Lawrence sounded genuinely angry. "For his first time? Are you stupid, boy? I told you to put it on two."

"Sorry," Karofksy replied, not sounding like he meant it in the least.

Dr. Lawrence sighed angrily, and then turned his attention back to Kurt, the anger on his face ebbing away as he took in the small boy below him. "That'll do for today, Kurt," he said, and it sounded almost apologetic. Almost. "You'll have another session in the next two weeks or so."

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><p><strong>Ouch :(<strong>

**Just like to point out that though Dave's at Dalton and Kurt has been transferred there from McKinley, in this fic Dave never went to McKinley and so they don't have history before Kurt got transferred. Any questions you have, ask away.  
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****Next chapter up tomorrow or the next day. Please review if you liked it! Or hated it, i don't mind :) **  
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**Johnny :D  
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	2. Aftershock

**I wish I'd started this story from Kurt's first day instead! I feel that may have worked better? But i'll roll with it :) This one takes place after Kurt's session with 'The Ring'**

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><p>Although the ways of Dalton had already been ingrained into his mind since his first month of being there, fleeting thoughts still crossed Kurt's mind, that he knew, should they ever be made public, would be cause for a very long and very hard punishment indeed. Thoughts like escape and revenge.<p>

Karofsky was walking him (well, Karofsky was walking, Kurt was limping) back to his dormitory after his first session with the ring and they were the only two people in the corridor. The ring sessions generally took place before bed (probably to further deter students from any thoughts of late-night masturbation) and so the school was empty and quiet, save for the odd sounds an old building makes. If he had some sort of object, some sort of weapon that he could use against Karofsky then he would have indeed used it. It would be worth it, if it meant a chance to escape. Right now, it seemed his only option of getting the hell out of there. He couldn't see the possibility that the school would ever allow him to graduate and until that happened, he couldn't leave. Even if he didn't escape, a weapon would be good right now just to fill his satisfaction of causing pain to Karofsky. Kurt was not a vengeful or violent person. But the feeling of hatred he felt for the staff at Dalton consumed his entire being. He glanced behind him and was met with a scowl.

"Eyes to the front, homo," Karofsky snapped viciously. Kurt complied at once. He knew better than to disobey, though the thought of Karofsky behind him, no doubt watching his ass, left a bitter taste in his mouth. It was sick - there was no way that this school had cured him. In a way, Kurt was glad that it hadn't. It at least showed that even someone like Karofsky, who was cruel and nasty and often verged on psychotic hadn't changed. That someone who used such offensive language and loudly proclaimed on many occasions that he'd like to line up every single gay person in the world and just start shooting - and meant every word of it - couldn't be cured. Because Kurt knew that someone like that would have done anything to change, to be 'normal'. And yet here was Karofsky, who had been through the entire programme and eventually graduated from the Academy, still attracted to guys, still ran his hands over his body whenever he got the chance. And from the rumours he'd heard from his classmates, did a lot of _other_ stuff too.

They had almost reached his dormitory now. It was the one place that Kurt felt somewhat safe at Dalton. When they had been ordered to go to bed, and when the last punishments of the day had been doled out and the lights eventually turned off and the door closed, Kurt always let out an audible sigh of relief, as did most of his roommates. It was always like a weight had been temporarily lifted from his shoulders and although he knew that the weight would be back on tomorrow, even heavier most times, the brief respite was enough to allow his body to fall into a deep, much-needed sleep.

He used to feel that way whenever he left McKinley and went home - as soon as he shut the door behind him, he felt _safe_. Kurt shook his head to himself bitterly. He hated being reminded of home, because it reminded him of his fathers choice to send him here. There were thousands of unanswered questions in the world and yet all Kurt wanted to know was why had he been sent here? He knew his father's reason, but would he have still made him come here if he knew what it was really like? Granted, everyone knew Dalton was strict. Kurt had heard a few of the horror stories that allegedly took place within the guarded four walls but took most of them to be just that: Stories. So far-fetched, it seemed ridiculous to truly believe that a student had been forced to walk barefoot on a trail of stinging nettles for half an hour because they were wearing very dark blue socks instead of black. Now there was no shadow of a doubt in his mind that that had indeed happened to someone. He'd seen and experienced far worse since he got here.

The next thing he knew, Kurt had been shoved face first into a nearby wall, the weight of Karofsky against his back, effectively pinning him there with very little effort.

"You tryin' to be funny, queer?" Karofksy was mad, Kurt could tell. And then he realised why. Lost in his thoughts, he had walked straight past his dormitory. Karofsky had probably purposely let him - just so he could punish him for it. He was grabbed by the shoulders and forcefully spun around, so he was forced to look into his eyes. "You givin' me the fuckin' run around?" He slammed Kurt's back against the wall.

"N-No," Kurt stammered.

"N-No?" Karofsky sneered. "So you callin' me a liar now?"

"No!" Kurt pleaded. Although the very notion of begging and the like was not considered a masculine trait at all, it seemed most of the staff at Dalton were amused and got off on it, and Karofsky was no exception. Probably fed well into his twisted ego that it made them more manly then the students.

Karofsky appraised him for a moment and Kurt stood very still, wondering which way this was going to go. And then he found out, when Karofsky leaned into him slowly and stuck out his tongue, before licking up one side of his neck, deliberately slowly and with such passion it made Kurt feel sick to his stomach as he felt hot breath ghosting his cheek. He was further humiliated when Karofsky's moans got fed into his ear, knowing that he couldn't do anything to stop Karofsky getting off over him, knowing that he couldn't stop Karofsky doing the type of thing he himself and all the other students at Dalton had been transferred there for. And so Kurt continued to stay still and didn't react, in the positive or the negative, at what he was being subjected to. Most of the staff liked compliance, but it seemed Karofsky wasn't entirely satisfied unless his victim was fruitlessly trying to fight him off before he made his stake. For this reason, he released Kurt after a while and grunted in displeasure.

"Go," he snapped. Kurt meekly lowered his head and made his way to the dormitory, only to have a fistful of his hair grabbed by Karofsky, who used it as a grip to forcefully slam Kurt's head against the wall as he passed. Kurt gasped at the blinding pain that had him seeing stars, but bit back the yelp that was being constructed in the back of his throat, even though his head was spinning and his eyes had started to water over the hurt. He sidled past Karofsky and opened the door to his dormitory, slid his way in and then pushed it behind him, resting his back against the closed door.

Although they were supposed to be asleep, Kurt knew that nobody in the dormitory actually was. And it was only when the heavy footfall of Karofsky grew faint indicating that he had walked away from the dormitory, did they make this known.

"Are you okay?" The concerned whisper was barely audible but Kurt knew it had come from Wes Bailey.

He nodded in reply, before remembering it was dark and they couldn't see him. "Yeah," he whispered back shakily. He attempted to feel his way through the dark to his bed, but decided to give his eyes a few minutes to adjust better to the pitch blackness before him.

"Did they put you through the ring?"

Kurt nodded again, only this time it was because he couldn't form the right words to say anything as tears began to form in his eyes over what he had been put through. It was more damaging than he could have ever imagined. He heard one of the beds creak slightly, and then heard the quiet shuffling of bare feet across wood before the figure of Blaine Anderson was beside him.

"You know you're not supposed to be out of bed!" a small boy called William Crewe whined softly. "You're going to get us all in trouble."

"Shut up, William," Blaine hissed, but he took Kurt by the elbow all the same. "Come on," he said kindly, "Get in bed before someone comes to check up on us." Kurt allowed himself to be stumblingly led over to his bed and when he reached it, sat down on it stiffly and stared straight ahead. Blaine knew all too well the effects of the ring and took his actions to mean that he needed some assistance in undressing. Having been stripped of his clothes earlier on, this was not something Kurt took kindly to at all and he instinctively stiffened, before curling up and away from Blaine as much as he could. Guys reacted differently after they'd been through the ring and Kurt was clearly the frightened, wounded animal type, so Blaine let him be, giving him a soft, awkward smile that he couldn't see before he made his way back to his own bed.

Kurt undressed himself quickly and rhythmically before re-dressing himself into his pyjamas. Like the schools strict uniform, even the pyjamas they provided were identical. The idea they sold to the parents was that it made nobody better than anybody else, when in reality, Kurt knew that what they actually meant was that they were all as bad as each other.

He sank his head against the cool pillow and willed tiredness. But for the first time since he got here, found it difficult to drift off to sleep that night.

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><p><strong>Done :)<strong>

**Thanks for the reviews and all the lovely favourite story adding. Keep 'em comin ;)  
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**These last chapters (and probably the next few) are mostly about what's taking place at the moment, but there will be some explanations as to what happened before this, and will delve into character history. If there's anything in particular you're wondering, then ask away! So i know what I might need to clear up!**

**Next chapter hopefully up by the end of the week. Please review if you liked it! Or hated it, i don't mind :)**

**Johnny :)  
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	3. Power

**Thanks for the lovely reviews, guys. I hope you all enjoy chapter three :)**

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><p>"Finn, are you awake?"<p>

There was no answer, but Kurt could tell by the accentuated heavy breathing that his step brother was just feigning sleep even though it was nearing two o'clock in the morning and they had school the next day. His whole world had crashed down on him at the news he had been delivered earlier and his heart had been beating so loud ever since, he could hear it drumming constantly in his ears. It seemed even louder now, lying in bed in the dark bedroom that he shared with his stepbrother. Kurt had previously had some beautiful pink sheer-like curtains but then Finn complained that he couldn't sleep unless all light was totally shut out and as Finn was the one moving in, and out of his old bedroom, Kurt only thought it was fair to give in to the complaint and replace them with some thick black ones.

"Finn, I really need to talk to you about this," Kurt pleaded.

He was only met with silence for a moment, until Finn replied, "Dude, it's too late now. Your dad and my mom have decided already." He sounded resigned.

"Finn, _please_." Kurt sat up in bed and looked over to Finn's bed adjacent to his. Finn was rolled onto his side, facing the wall, so he didn't have to be witness to Kurt's begging. "Can't you say something to them?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know," Kurt cried in frustration, throwing his hands up in the air dramatically before resting his back against the headboard. "Just something. _Any_thing." Tears started to form in his eyes and he blinked them away angrily. He hated crying in front of Finn as much as Finn hated Kurt crying in front of him. "This isn't fair!"

Seven hours had passed since Burt had dropped the bombshell on Kurt; that at the end of the week, he'd be transferring to Dalton Academy and would start there the following Monday. He just threw it into the dinner conversation casually, standoffishly even. From the way Carole was busying herself cutting up her meat, eyes kept down on her plate and Finn awkwardly squirming in his seat and looking everywhere but Kurt's eyes, Kurt knew that this was only new information to one person at that table. Himself.

"Do _you_ think I should be sent there?" Kurt asked, remembering the guilty look on Finn's face earlier.

"No!" Finn replied, a little too quickly. He sighed. "Look, your dad'll probably miss you after a couple of days and drag you out of there himself so stop worrying."

"It's boarding school Finn," Kurt snapped, folding his arms. "I can't just go after a couple of days."

"Well after the first semester then, whatever. You'll be home by Summer, dude, trust me."

Kurt shook his head. "They won't let me leave."

Finn had the utter audacity to _chuckle_. "It's military school man, not prison!"

"Finn!" Kurt exploded. "They force you to eat soap! They make you walk barefoot through stinging nettles! They regularly practice electric shock treatment and people have _died_ there."

"Kurt, those are things called _rumours_," Finn replied patiently. "We have them at McKinley too… Like the one about that exchange student who supposedly killed herself in the girls bathroom ten years ago."

"Brittany says she molests her every time she goes in there to pee," said Kurt.

"Burt'll miss you as soon as he drops you off and you'll be back home before you know it," Finn continued, as though Kurt hadn't spoke. "You won't even be there long enough to take anything in. And if you are, then… you know."

"No, I don't know," replied Kurt, even though he knew exactly what Finn meant. "What?" Finn was still rolled on his side facing the wall and the long silence that passed frustrated Kurt even more than it would have if he could see his facial expressions. "FINN!"

"Dude, shut _up_ it's the middle of the night," Finn snapped.

"Then tell me what you meant," Kurt shot back in an exaggerated whisper.

"It'll just… help you toughen up a bit, you know? It's not like you wouldn't benefit from it. It's probably the reason your dads sending you there in the first place."

Even as Finn was saying the things he was saying and Kurt was taking them in, there was something in the back of his mind telling him that this wasn't right. He leaned over to the bedside cabinet where a desk lamp was situated and flicked the switch, blinking awkwardly for a few seconds at the change the dim light the lamp provided.

"Sometimes… you can be such a fag, Kurt." Finn concluded this statement by rolling over to face Kurt for the first time that night and Kurt recoiled in sickened horror as he saw the face of Karofsky staring back at him in the bed that was supposed to be his stepbrothers, grinning a sadistic grin. Karofsky swung his legs out of bed and stood up, towering over Kurt, more bigger and frightening than ever before.

"What's the matter, little brother?" Karofsky sneered, before two mammoth paws seized Kurt by the shoulders and lifted him up out of bed easily, so he was forced to face Karofsky head on, Kurt's legs kicking and flailing uselessly, not able to make target with him. "Don't you like me anymore?" He crushed Kurt against his chest and forced him into a bruising kiss that Kurt unsuccessfully tried to break.

The tight hold was like a pythons on its victim and Kurt slowly felt the life being squeezed out of him. Several dark spots danced in front of his eyes and a swirling, churning sickness was rolling around in the pit of his stomach. As he struggled for breath, his surroundings seemed to melt. Various shelves occupied by books and ornaments started to twist and turn and dissolve into each other. The beds began to sink into the floor as if balanced on quicksand, and the colourful posters of his idols began to turn monochrome and peel themselves from the walls. He reached out for help, from his father, from his mother, for _anyone_ to save him but his surroundings started to turn hazy and then everything went black. The next second he screamed and sat bolt upright in bed, panting heavily with one hand instinctively covering his heart. It was just a nightmare. And yet, despite suffering the aftermath of the more realistic nightmares like the aftermath he was suffering now, Kurt preferred nightmares to dreams. Dreams were cruelly snatched away from him when he awoke every morning and found everything was as he left it. He was in Dalton Academy and he wasn't coming out.

Brisk footsteps approaching the dormitory broke through the memories of his nightmare and he lay back down in an instant. He felt hot and cold at the same time and his heart felt as though it was about to explode. He was done for if they found him awake. He heard the door open and then flinched when it slammed against the wall loudly. He shut his eyes and was careful not to screw them up too tightly to blow his cover and tried to breathe as evenly as possible, despite the swirling pit of dread in his stomach that threatened to turn itself into vomit and make him throw up.

"What, may I ask, did I just hear?" The low voice rang slow and sadistic and Kurt swallowed hard. It was Banks, the Gym teacher. All the staff at Dalton were cruel, but they all had different techniques in displaying their cruelty, Kurt had come to learn. Banks' speciality was a brutal mix of drill sergeant and no-holds-barred violence. He was huge with bulging muscles, had extremely hairy arms and legs, and his face was covered in various pockmarks and deep, ugly scars, probably the result of teenage acne that had held him back from being popular and leaving him dateless for the prom which consequently built him up to the rage-fuelled, twisted prick that he was today.

He'd probably heard him whimpering in his sleep. Any excuse to come up and throw his power around. Not that he, or anyone, ever really needed an excuse to punish... Kurt heard the flickering of a light switch and then saw light from underneath his eyelids and bit down hard on his bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

"I'm going to ask one more time," said Banks, his voice a little louder. "What did I just hear?"

Kurt stayed breathing as evenly as he could and held onto the tiniest flicker of hope that he'd got away with it when he heard someone pipe up from the corner. "Sir, Hummel was yelling out in his sleep."

Kurt screwed up his eyes tight as he heard footsteps from behind approach his bed and then visibly shrank into a ball as a hand clamped down on his shoulder. He dared to snatch a look at Banks, who was staring back down at him with uncontained rage in his eyes.

"You were yellin' out in your sleep?" he spat.

Kurt recoiled. "I was having a nightm -"

That was all he managed to say before he was dragged out of bed by his legs, his body hitting the hard wooden floor with a sickening crack. He screamed uncontrollably as Banks neatly rolled him onto his front with his boot and knelt one heavy knee across his back so he was pinned to the floor. Despite Kurt kicking his legs in all directions, Banks easily stripped him of his underwear.

"How many do you deserve, Hummel?"

Kurt gulped. He didn't know the correct answer to this question. Sometimes it was best to stay quiet and so he did. He noticed Blaine peering out from underneath his bedcovers in his bed in the corner and he looked at him desperately before he felt Banks' hand close in on a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back sharply and then Kurt knew it wasn't best to stay quiet. "Oww - twenty?" he cried urgently.

Banks let out a chuckle. "I think we can do better than that. _Crewe_!" He barked.

William Crewe, the boy who had gave Kurt away sat up in bed tentatively. "Sir?"

"Count out Hummel's punishment. He seems to think he deserves twenty. _I_ think that number should be doubled, wouldn't you agree, Crewe?"

Kurt raised his eyes to William's and waited for the answer he knew was coming.

"Yes sir."

"And I think the amount should then be doubled again, for the sheer desperation of attempting to avoid a sufficient punishment that fits his crimes. Would you still agree, Crewe?"

"Sir."

"And if he so much as utters a _whimper_ I want you to start from the beginning."

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><p>Kurt found it the greatest of difficulties to even simply lie still in bed after the punishment he took for his loud and premature awakening. That bastard Banks had given him eighty relentless slaps across his bare ass. He was grateful that Banks had mercifully spared the rod (or worse) and only used his hands but (and he shivered disgustedly at this) that meant that the pervert had got to grope his ass whenever he felt like it, in full view of the others who had kept quiet in their beds so not to direct any of Banks' anger toward themselves. He had made Kurt thank him after every stinging strike and it was with bitter hatred that Kurt noted it was the most ugliest staff at Dalton that made them beg and submit the most.<p>

They were like the bullies at his old school, only much, much worse, because they had all the power. And though Kurt had felt like he had been through hell and back every day at McKinley, one thing the bullies there had never had was power. Not over him. They could trip, shove, beat on him and throw as many slushies in his face as they wanted but never once did they ever exert any power over Kurt. He was too strong to let them feed from his fear. Unfortunately, this was made impossible at Dalton. Fear ruled Dalton. Hope that his dad would realise how much he missed him and bring him home now seemed like a long way away - he'd pretty much left that hope in his bedroom the night he and Finn talked about his moving.

The month he had been there seemed like years under the reign of terror that the staff put him and the other students through. The fact that they were hardly allowed outside at all didn't help matters either. Time felt slow and he was left alone with his thoughts for so long he felt like he would scream and then the next second everything was moving in double speed and he found it hard to keep up with the strict regime and got punished for it. He wanted to know how others were coping. Some walked around with a permanent glazed expression on their face, a telltale sign that their minds had been damaged with too much punishment and not enough treatment. William always had a shocked expression on his face, like there was a permanent scarred image in his mind that he couldn't remove and William, Kurt reasoned to himself with a grim hatred, had only tattled on him to get himself in the somewhat 'good books' of Banks for the next couple of days. That's the way Dalton worked. _That's_ the way the others coped.

_When one got threatened with the belt,_

_it made them cry and most sold out._

He wanted desperately to talk to someone. But apart from a few snatched conversations in the middle of the night when they were supposed to be asleep, he'd hardly said a word to anyone and nobody had hardly said a word to him. Talking without permission ended up in severe punishment, much like the way any rule broken ended up. The staff figured that talking equalled planning an escape and perhaps it would have, if they were allowed to do it. And so it was because of this Kurt felt like he had no means of escape. He couldn't ask for any help from the others because he didn't know who to trust and nobody seemed that keen on speaking to him anyway in case they got into trouble themselves. They were friendly enough in the dormitory of a night, the only time they were away from the eyes of any staff for a prolonged period, and shot him sympathetic looks when a teacher or mentor wasn't looking, if he had gotten punished by one of them, but apart from that, nothing.

The boys of Dalton Academy kept their heads low and their spirits lower and that's the way the staff at Dalton liked it to stay.

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><p><strong>Poor Dalton boys :(<strong>

**Does it seem depressing and rather soul destroying? I hope so. That's what I'm aiming for. **

**One reviewer of chapter two asked some questions, including, "What about the Warblers?" I'm in two minds of whether to include them or not. Not that i've decided how this is going to end yet, but introducing that part of the school would allow a way for the guys in the group to potentially interact with the 'outside world' but do you think it would be befitting to the story? Naturally, being in the group would involve some sort of nastiness and mind-fuckery led by some sadistic music teacher, but I don't know whether it would keep in line with the strictness of not letting the students out. I can work it in, either way, but I'd like your opinions. You guys are the ones reading after all :)**

**Next chapter up some time next week hopefully!**

**Again, any questions or suggestions you have, please leave them in a review so I know what to resolve and not. And please review if you liked it. Or hated it, i don't mind :)**

**Johnny **

**xoxo  
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	4. Shower Game

**I am so grateful beyond belief for the reviews and kind words, they really help keep me going on with this. Thanks guys :)**

****Check out 'YaDiva' on Fanfiction - I am in love with her fics!**  
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**Here's chapter four, it follows directly after the last one:  
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><p>Kurt didn't remember falling to sleep after Banks' punishment last night for having a nightmare, but he must have done, because the next thing he remembered was being in a huge, green field with Blaine. The air was pure and the flowers that adorned their surroundings were as beautiful as they were plentiful. Kurt and Blaine were free of the restrictive Dalton uniform and were wearing their own clothes and for the first time in a long time, Kurt felt like himself again. The sun was shining bright and their eyes were shining brighter. Blaine turned to Kurt and took his hand. They walked in amicable silence, the only interruption being the harmonic sounds of nature playing out around them peacefully. Kurt heard an angry shout from behind him and turned around. The majestic and haunting building of Dalton lay behind them, but Kurt didn't feel any fear. It was in the far distance. He was a long way away from all that now.<p>

Kurt saw himself turn to Blaine and smile, and Blaine returned a shy smile back, before he leaned in so close, Kurt could smell his scent and he smelled delicious. And then Blaise yelled, "FINAL CALL!"

Kurt felt a pinch on his arm and he flinched - in the dream or in real life he wasn't sure - and he awoke in an instant to find Blaine staring down at him anxiously, willing him to get up through a thousand unspoken words that he shouted through his eyes. Another day at Dalton Academy was about to begin.

Before arriving there, Kurt was not used to being awoken in such an abrupt manner but he had had to learn to deal with it very quickly. Incurring the wrath of whichever staff was on wake-up duty was bad enough to experience once but going through it each day was enough to wake him up at the crack of dawn every day if necessary. They were all as bad as each other.

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><p>The eight boys in Kurt's dormitory marched down the corridors neatly and sombrely and bringing up the rear was Bronson, a thick-necked, thick-jawed piggish-looking brute of a man who looked much older than Kurt reckoned he actually was. Bronson was directly behind him as Kurt was the last student in line, and he could feel his stare practically burning a hole in his ass, he was staring at it that hard. He was the English teacher, though Kurt had gotten straight A's in English at McKinley and it was plainly obvious that Bronson was not qualified to teach the subject. The only thing the students learned in English class was that if you said something that Bronson didn't approve of, or said something in a tone or manner that Bronson didn't approve of, you'd be punished thoroughly for it.<p>

Kurt continued to march robotically down the corridor with the others, his gaze mostly on the floor, but occasionally glancing up and staring at the dark curls on Blaine's head in front of him. The lack of communication was driving him crazy. Blaine was only a few feet in front and Kurt could have easily whispered an idea, a plan, even a normal and innocent comment into his ear had he not been so afraid of the consequences. Fear ruled those at Dalton Academy. Fear of extreme punishment, fear of extreme isolation, fear of anything. And so dormitory thirteen marched, marched left, right, left, right in strict timing, as they made their way to the showers. Mentors were waiting for them at the showers and when dorm thirteen had reached their destination and were suitably supervised, Bronson left to get some breakfast, leaving Kurt alone with the mentors and the other boys. He hated being called a boy but that's what the mentors called them. The mentors were men and the students at Dalton were not only boys, but _little_ boys. Little boys that couldn't stop giving in to their own disgusting and perverted urges and so couldn't be trusted unsupervised with their own cocks.

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><p>There were seven other naked guys, mostly his age, all showering alongside him but Kurt didn't feel the tiniest bit aroused, even though some of them were quite cute. But he couldn't, really, not knowing that he would be thrashed to within an inch of his life should the mentors spot his 'inappropriate behaviour.' And not whilst he was standing underneath the ice cold showers with ice cold water that hit his skin like knives being sliced into his bare flesh.<p>

The showers were grimy and Kurt often felt more dirty after showering in them than he did beforehand. Make no mistake about it, Dalton was indeed a grand institution and the brochures certainly made it look as impressive as it was, on the outside. But the thing they didn't tell the parents was that those were just the facilities provided to staff. Immaculate and utterly presentable the uniform may have been, but the same couldn't be said for the student's amenities. The showers were filthy, the dormitories were less than basic and the food was one step up from gruel. Of course, the staff were well cleaned, well accommodated and well fed (they ate three course meals every evening cooked by whichever students were on kitchen duty.) Kurt suddenly shuddered violently and wrapped his arms around his waist in the vain hope of warming himself up.

"Come on, Hummel!" Karofsky roared. "If you just stand there like that you're going to catch pneumonia. Try handling me kicking the shit out of you when you're feeling that rough! Soap yourself up!" Karofsky, along with the other mentors, of course, were fully clothed and warm.

Kurt could barely move from the coldness but he managed to raise a trembling hand to his chest and rubbed the soap against his chest weakly. Karofsky muttered something inaudible to Kahn, another mentor, who laughed hard before he shook his head and nodded towards William. Kurt was a terrifically observant person to still manage to take this exchange into account despite the freezing cold water raining down around him and turned his head slightly towards William to see what they were talking about. Unfortunately his nosiness was about to cost him.

"Keep your eyes to yourself, Hummel, you sick fuck," Sayeed Kahn yelled loudly. He too looked like a clone of everyone else in his Dalton uniform, the only difference being a Dalton-coloured turban he always wore on his head to cover his hair. "Crewe doesn't need you creeping on him. He's trying to get back on the straight and narrow." Karofsky, and two other mentors that were supervising with him and Kahn sniggered at Kahn's comment.

As if to prove his point, William turned away slightly and Kurt flushed angrily at the accusation of trying to snatch a peek at his cock. He lived through hell every day at this school and the last thing on his mind right now was anything sexual. It was the _mentors_ that were leering at him. Still, leering wasn't as bad as to what was going to come…

The mentors were definitely worse than the teachers, Kurt had decided a while back. The teachers, though sadistic in their own right, never outwardly showed anything other than disgusted contempt for the students placed in their care. Sure, it might be plainly obvious that when they made them strip, or spanked them as 'punishment', that they were getting off on it, but they never set up scenarios and participated in them like this, not like the mentors did. The teachers seemed to hold an air of dignity (for lack of better word) about them that suggested that though they would take to punishing the boys of Dalton, it was ultimately through selfless motives; that they were only doing it to help. The mentors, however, revelled in their power and took gleeful delight in subjecting them to humiliation for their own twisted amusement. The bulges in their pants confirmed this every time.

They weren't allowed to towel themselves off after the mentors announced showering was over and abruptly cut the water off; that would have provided them with temporary warmth and that just wouldn't do for the little game the mentors were about to play with them. They were ordered to stand in a horizontal line, arm-width apart from each other. Kurt was third from right, which meant the mentors had five other boys to get through before they reached him because they _always_ started on the left and William _always_ got jostled into that spot as he was the smallest. This morning was no exception and Kurt made sure he was looking straight ahead as the mocking tones of the mentors rung around the dirty shower room. They were circling William like hungry sharks in a bloodbath.

"So you haven't suddenly had a growth spurt then, huh Crewe?"

It's why they played their game straight after the cold showers - so they'd all be considerably smaller from the cold water and the mentors could emphasise their manliness over their boyishness. Everything about the place was a mindfuck. Kurt hadn't ever thought of himself to be easily influenced by things but he was becoming seriously affected and accustomed to the ways of Dalton.

There was a whimpered cry and Kurt reckoned one of them had probably grabbed William's balls and squeezed them hard. William let out a further series of choked sobs before he bit back an anxious cry mixed with a slight hint of relief that signalled to Kurt that they were done with him for the moment. Kurt continued to stare straight ahead.

"Good things don't come in small packages, Adams!" Jason Tierney, an ugly rat-faced mentor snarled. The noise that the slap made echoed around the shower room like thunder, though Anthony Adams didn't make a sound as usual. It was bad enough when one of the bigger mentors treated them in the way they did, but it was insulting to have to take it from a small, pathetic nobody like Tierney. Kurt often thought that if for some reason the two of them ever found themselves in a fair fight, even he would be able to beat him up.

Because Anthony didn't react to the slap in the face, he was awarded nine more, one right after the other. Kurt's cheeks burned for him. Anthony was a very thin and very tall guy, who always had his neck bent. Kurt was amazed when he witnessed him looking up at the sky dolefully one afternoon on one of the rare occasions they were outside - he hadn't thought him physically able to. He concluded that Anthony simply thought that the best way of escaping his Dalton nightmare was by not looking at anything but the floor.

He supposed everyone had their own ways of coping, and yet he wasn't sure what his was. Was he actually coping? Would he ever cope? Did he _want_ to cope? If he began to get used to the ways of Dalton, though easier the whole experience would be on him, it would also signal that this was his life from now on and until the staff deemed it so, his departure from here would be non-existent. McKinley seemed like such a long time ago. It hurt to think about it, but sometimes Kurt made himself anyway; maybe to have some sort of control over the pain he was being subjected to. He couldn't stop the physical and emotional abuse being inflicted on him every day in this hellhole, but if he tortured himself mentally with his own memories, it served as a temporary distraction and blocked out some of the other pain being heaped upon him on a daily basis.

Of course, when he went all melancholy like this, there was only usually one path that his mind led him back to and it hurt, it hurt so _badly_, but he was hurting so badly all over these days anyway, and the fact that thinking this thought might just cause him to snap and push him over the edge was slightly comforting. At least if he went crazy he'd be oblivious to what was going on around him. Dutifully, he thought of McKinley, which in turn led to his removal from there, which in turn led to the reason, which in turn led to the day his mother died.

That day was a bit of a blur. The most vivid memory he had over the whole thing was screaming hysterically in the hospital as doctors and nurses bustled around him busily, shouting out instructions to each other down white, clean corridors in white, clean coats. His father had been there, alternating between pulling him in close for reassuring hugs and holding him at arms length, shouting, _screaming_ in his face, demanding to know what happened; silent and angry tears streaming down his cheeks. Kurt had tried to talk, but nothing would come out. His mouth was frozen solid in a shocked, small 'o' shape and although he had a million things racing through his mind and he felt as though he would burst if he didn't get any of them out, he just simply could not talk. He was too numb from the shock. There had been lights shone into his eyes as doctors stuck torches in his face to see whether he was still fully conscious. Plastic cups of water were pushed into his hand but Kurt didn't move his arm once to take a sip and they had been taken away, untouched, only to be replaced by a fresh cup by a fresh nurse ten minutes later. The police came. They stared at him suspiciously and jotted things down on notepads. They didn't talk to him, but they talked to Burt, and occasionally they would all turn and look at him as he stared back through dull, deadened eyes. Psychiatrists had given him the once over, before he and his dad were ushered into a private room that smelled like strong medicine. A psychiatrist, two policeman and a doctor were waiting. And then, the questions had begun…

"What the FUCK, Hummel?"

Kurt's eyes shot open. When had they ever been shut? When had it gotten to his turn? His whole body was suddenly racked with nerves and an anxious flush caused him to burn up and begin to get very hot, despite his chilly surroundings. He was staring straight into the eyes of Karofsky and he did not look happy at all. Kurt cried out as Karofsky roughly grabbed a fistful of his hair and twisted the arm that held onto it. Kurt lost his balance and tripped onto his knees, keeping a tight grip on the wrist of Karofsky to sort of hold himself up, as Karofsky wrestled him this way and that, apparently determined to rip some of his hair out by the roots. He squeezed his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth as his scalp began to itch with burning pain at the assault Karofsky was delivering to him. The other boys remained silent and stared straight ahead as though nothing was going on around them. Karofsky eventually let go of the hold he had on Kurt's hair and Kurt slowly staggered to his feet.

The solid backhand was a favourite of Karofsky's and he had mastered it down to a T. He shifted all his weight behind his arm, and used the full strength of his body to deliver the blow, right across Kurt's mouth and cheek. The sheer force of the hit was enough to send Kurt spinning a full 360 degrees before he fell backwards onto his ass in a complete daze. His bottom lip felt hot and he knew it had been split from the smack, but knew better than to inspect how bad the damage was with his fingers or tongue until he was in private. Karofsky began to boot him in his ribs and Kurt curled up on himself as much as he could, though not so much that Karofsky wasn't able to hit him and would get frustrated, therefore make the beating more prolonged.

Mercifully, a bell signalled that morning classes were due to start soon and that the game had to come to an end. The mentors hadn't had enough time for Wes and Blaine, who were last in line, and had to settle on a couple of punches to Wes' gut and slamming Blaine's head roughly against a wall, whilst Karofsky's attention remained on Kurt.

"Don't. Fuck. With. Me. Again. Hummel. Understand?" He spat each word viciously but the kicks after each one were more vicious, by far.

Kurt nodded weakly, though he wasn't exactly certain what he was meant to have understood.

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><p><strong>Hmmm. I'm not too fond of the abrupt ending of this installment, but I had to cut it short because of the way the next chapters are set up.<strong>

**It seems that there's a split down the middle as to whether I should include the Warblers or not. You guys gave me some good arguments for and against, as well as some ideas. And after all that, I'm still not sure of whether they will be part of the story or not! It's pretty much writing itself as it goes along, while I hover in the background =]**

**ANYWAY. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and please, please review. I love getting them. Like seriously, I have such a goofy grin on my face when I check my inbox, it's great. :D**

****Next chapter up next week. Please review if you liked it! Or hated it, i don't mind :) **  
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**Johnny =]**

**xx  
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	5. The Dalton Way  Part One

**Hello!**

**This was posted later than expected, so my apologies. Buuuut, it's an extended chapter! Yay!**

**Just a quick author's note to clear things up: These first five chapters pretty much take place in two days. It was Sunday night when Kurt was taken to the ring, still Sunday in chapter two, Early hours of Monday morning in chapter three when Kurt suffered from his nightmare, and then Monday morning in the last chapter when the mentors played their shower game. This chapter takes place during Monday morning and afternoon.**

**I hope you enjoy =]**

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><p>Kurt had never been fond of Math. His mind had always been more focused towards the artistic side of things. He could create a whole stage number, complete with choreography and costumes in a matter of seconds in his head but the same was not applied to Math. He found it difficult to find the solution to the problems - the numbers on the page always merged into one another and made his brain go fuzzy. And whenever letters were introduced into the mix, his brain just shut down completely. Unfortunately for Kurt, not being good at something was not an excuse now he was at Dalton.<p>

Biggs, the Math teacher, was admittedly not as horrible as some of the other teachers. The man was by no means a saint, but at least he actually tried to force an education on his students, compared to some of his more crueller colleagues, who just seemed hell bent on making their lives as miserable as possible. He was an older gentleman, with grey, balding hair, and small, squinty eyes that blinked a lot behind thick-rimmed, round glasses. He had a whiny voice that went right through Kurt, especially when trying to explain some of the more complicated Math problems. He also walked with a stick (and hit hard with it too.)

"Hummel!" Kurt's eyes flickered up from his worksheet to the eyes of Biggs. "I've been watching you for five minutes and you haven't wrote a single thing. Why?"

It was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. They weren't permitted to talk in any of their lessons anyway, except when answering a question, but now the noise of pencils scribbling and papers shuffling had quietened down to a minimum so they could best hear what was about to take place without actually looking like they were trying to eavesdrop.

"I…" Kurt faltered. "I… find it… difficult, sir."

Biggs sighed as though he had let him down, and nodded. "To the front, Hummel."

Kurt rose from his seat slowly, knowing what was about to come and inwardly cursing himself for not paying closer attention to Math when he was at McKinley, not that it would have mattered much. The standard at Dalton was exceptionally high and Kurt had found himself failing in most subjects. He didn't mind about that - after his experience here, if he didn't hear the words school, education or grades again, it wouldn't be too soon.

As he walked to the front of the class where Biggs was waiting, idly tapping his walking stick on the floor, Kurt spotted Blaine looking at him sympathetically from the corner of his eye. They both knew that this was frowned upon, so Blaine didn't make it obvious and Kurt didn't acknowledge Blaine's sympathy, though he was pleased that Blaine was in his class. Each dormitory were placed in the same classes and generally did all activities together, except for things like assemblies when the whole school was gathered together.

Kurt stopped when he was in front of Biggs and looked down at his shoes. Unless instructed, students were generally not allowed to look in the eyes of anyone deemed superior at the school.

"Pants. Underwear. Down. Now."

Kurt hooked his thumbs through the waistband of his pants and pulled them down robotically, before doing the same with his underwear. He'd been through this so many times and witnessed it happening to his peers even more so, that he didn't really feel much embarrassment in doing this in front of his classmates anymore. They'd all been there and would no doubt be there again. He heard the telltale sound of a bottle cap being flicked open as Biggs moved behind him and a couple of seconds later, he felt the cold intrusion of oil being rubbed into his bare bottom by an eager hand. Biggs tried to insist that this was to help them get through their punishment more easily, but they all knew it was so the punishment would sting more, as well as giving him the opportunity to touch their asses. Being slapped across the ass after the oil had been administered made for a better sound effect too and the way Biggs would give a little shiver after each strike made it plain to everyone that this was something he particularly enjoyed.

With his pants and underwear around his ankles, Kurt continued to stare at a spot on the floor. He sometimes feverishly hoped beyond belief that if he stared hard enough, the floor would somehow open up and swallow him whole so he could get the hell out of this place. It was crazy, but if he could just somehow stare at _exactly_ the right spot, it might happen. Or if he looked at the wooden floorboards one panel at a time, and in the correct sequence, then they'd start to splinter and break and he could tunnel his way to freedom. Or maybe if...

The sound was deafening and echoed across the walls of the classroom and the blow came so fast, Kurt didn't register it at first. But when he did, it was hot and painful and hurt like hell. Biggs had used the rod he kept permanently on his desk for situations like these and he was certainly a master of using it. The strike had hit him full force and Kurt's backside itched with burning pain. His skin tingled with heat but he grit his teeth and tried not to cry out.

"Twelve eights?" Biggs asked.

"Ninety six, sir."

The second strike came harder and faster. Kurt thought he was going to throw up. "Nine nines?"

"Eighty one, sir," Kurt replied weakly.

The third strike was just pure pain. After it had been delivered, Kurt's skin on the affected area grew so hot it felt like it was going to split open and expose his flesh. It itched with a burning ache and Kurt's legs wobbled dangerously. He was determined not to fall, or move away though. The last boy who had done that had been relentlessly swatted over and over again until the end of the lesson and because they had been only fifteen minutes into the lesson, after an hour and forty five minutes had passed, his behind was so red and blistered, that he was eventually forced to visit Dr. Lawrence, to make sure there was no permanent damage.

"Fourteen thirteens?"

Oh god. Kurt had only memorised to twelve twelves so this would take some time to work out. Unfortunately for Kurt, time was not on his side right now. He desperately tried to construct some sort of logical chain that would give him the answer. Twelve twelves were one hundred and forty four, so if he added on an extra twenty eight that would give him one hundred and... seventy two? But then what was left? He had to say something because silence equalled insolence and insolence equalled punishment...

"One hundred and... eighty eight, sir?" He cried out desperately. It was quiet for a moment and Kurt though that he might have just got the right answer when three stinging blows were delivered right after another. Biggs had deadly accurate aim; the first strike was given to his left cheek and the second to the right. The third was delivered smack bang in the centre and the angle of which he had used the rod made sure it covered most of the area in that swat. Kurt let out a little whimper.

"The correct answer, Hummel, is one hundred and eighty two. Repeat."

"One hundred and eighty two, sir."

"Correct." Biggs finished his assault with one more hit of the rod that almost sent Kurt sprawling forward to his knees. "Go back to your seat."

Kurt shamefacedly pulled his underwear and pants back up with shaking hands, before shuffling back to his seat carefully, making sure to keep his hands well away from his behind, though they instinctively moved towards it, in order to try and smooth out some of the red hot pain he was feeling.

He kept his head bowed. Not that anybody would be foolish enough to blatantly stare at him as he walked past without the fear of incurring Biggs wrath unto themselves, but Kurt still kept his head down anyway, not wanting to meet anyone's eyes while he still had tears in his own, and the cheeks on his face were flushed and as probably as red as the ones that had just been swatted. He sat down as slowly as he could, perching on the edge of his seat so as not to enflame the raging hurt any more. His head swam with confusion and worry and as he looked down at his worksheet to try and make sense of things, he found it difficult to concentrate and the math problems that lay in front of him seemed even harder now. His punishment had only served to terrorise him; it hadn't helped at all.

He could feel the eyes of Biggs on him and he realised with a depressing horror that he hadn't wrote anything since returning to his seat. He hastily wrote a few random numbers down and hoped for the best. Even if every single one of his answers were shockingly wrong, it looked better to hand in a completed paper, rather than a blank one. That was just the Dalton way.

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><p>Joseph Maloney was the newest boy at Dalton.<p>

It had only been a month since Kurt had been transferred there himself, but Joseph had just arrived yesterday afternoon (a couple of hours before Kurt had been given his first session with the ring) and he had been allocated into Kurt's dormitory as it had a few spare beds in there. Though Kurt was still fairly new himself and so couldn't really judge, Joseph was... well, different to the other boys of Dalton. It wasn't in Kurt's nature to be so cocky and self-assured, so therefore Dalton hadn't needed to rid him of that, but even when he thought of the other boys in his dormitory - Blaine, Wes, William and all the others... he couldn't imagine any of them to have acted like Joseph before being transferred to Dalton. He had a swagger about him that reminded Kurt of the popular jocks back at McKinley.

As he arrived on a Sunday, this was Joseph's first day of education and as Kurt was kind-hearted, he prayed that Joseph wouldn't step out of line on his first proper day and result getting severely beaten.

He was just about to have his prayers dashed.

Science was taught by Bickerly and Kurt thought that maybe apart from Banks, the Gym teacher, Bickerly was the most twisted member of staff employed by Dalton. He was a middle-aged short and squat man and had a full head of shocking ginger hair. He had an unsightly large gut, though at the moment this was covered by the white lab coat he was wearing to teach. He always had a glint in his eye, though it was more mocking rather than a pleasant look, and always spoke in a slow, sarcastic voice as though he was dealing with small children.

He was busy describing the impurities in Chemical A that would lead to a positive reaction when mixed with Chemical B, resulting in Chemical C. The students had to work out what chemical was what, though it was kind of difficult, having no access to said chemicals themselves. They could only watch as Bickerly carefully poured the chemicals into different beakers. He had thick protective gloves on while he did this and so did the students, though they weren't permitted anywhere near his large, stainless steel desk whilst chemicals were brewing. He was at the very front and they were sat far behind at the back of the classroom, so far back they could hardly see what was taking place before them.

Kurt had just looked down to write some notes on the reactions of what he thought was happening in the beakers when he heard:

"NEW BOY!"

Kurt jumped; instantly transported back to his first couple of days when that had been his name and thought he was getting punished, but relaxed when he realised Bickerly was staring at Joseph (who was sitting right in front of him) with the utmost hatred. He felt guilty for being relieved, but that was the Dalton way.

Bickerly placed the chemicals on his desk and looked back to Joseph. "Are you planning on rejoining the rest of us in the lesson soon new boy? The gormless look on your miserable face clearly shows that somewhere, in some dark recess of your puny little mind, you were some place a million miles from here."

Joseph was staring right back at Bickerly. Strike One.

Joseph then folded his arms. Strike Two.

Joseph muttered something under his breath. Strike Three.

An eerie, hushed silence fell over the classroom and Kurt's jaw actually dropped open slightly at what might be about to happen. His heartbeat quickened instantly and then really started to hammer against his chest when he saw the reaction of Bickerly; who had a small, amused smile playing upon his thin lips.

"What's your name?" Bickerly demanded.

"New boy, evidently," Joseph mumbled sullenly.

Someone behind Kurt gasped and Kurt swallowed hard. Joseph was going to be in for it. The amusement had vanished from Bickerly's face as quickly as it appeared and he was now almost shaking with anger at the new boy's blatant insolence.

"Come here," Bickerly snapped.

"No."

"Come here, NOW!" Bickerly ordered.

"NO!" Joseph shouted, standing up from his chair. For one moment Kurt thought he might pick it up and lob it at Bickerly's head. He watched the scene unfolding in transfixed, terrified horror. Bickerly was now actually shaking with rage and for once looked lost for words, seemingly unable to form anything coherent, though his lips twitched as though he wanted to say lots. Finally, he did say something:

"CREWE! STAND UP."

William obeyed instantaneously. He was previously sitting left of Joseph. "Sir?"

"Bring new boy to me."

William had been trained well and moved to grab Joseph's arm, who wrenched it away angrily, before his hand curled up into a fist and kept his arm pulled back threateningly, clearly planning on flooring William if he even so much as attempted to lay a finger on him again. William looked back at Bickerly hesitantly while Kurt shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had never witnessed anything like this happening before. A jolt of hope ran through his body.

Bickerly obviously realised that William didn't stand a chance on his own because he ordered Anthony, who was sat on Joseph's right, to stand up as well, to which he complied even faster than William, if possible. Anthony always seemed to be constantly frightened at what was going on around him, and indeed potential things that _could_ happen, making him very eager to please.

Though he was thin, Anthony was tall and had more strength in him than William, but Joseph looked positively enraged now and this kept Anthony from making a move.

"What the _hell_ are you doing what he says for?" He snarled in Anthony's face. Joseph turned his attention to the other boys in the classroom. Kurt looked down and kept his eyes on his desk as he trembled in his seat. "Band together and we'll take this sick fuck and all the other sick fucks in this sick, fucking school!" Kurt wanted to speak up but his throat was dry with anxiety.

"You step out of line and I'll thrash you so hard you'll BEG for me to kill you," Bickerly snapped for the benefit of Anthony. "CUNNINGHAM! SMITH! GET UP, NOW." They too complied at once. When Kurt had first been introduced to all of his dorm mates he had thought that Scott Cunningham and Ralph Smith were twins, for they looked identical and almost angelic with their fine, blonde, neatly combed hair and their blue eyes, that Kurt just _knew_ had sparkled at one point, before they had been transferred to Dalton. Kurt later realised two things: They weren't twins and their angelic appearance belied their spiteful demeanour.

"NO!" Joseph cried in frustration as Scott and Ralph pushed past William to try to grab a hold of Joseph. Anthony quickly grabbed both of his arms and struggled to hold them behind his back and though Joseph managed to wrench his grip and free one arm, it was too late, because Scott and Ralph had already each picked up one of Joseph's kicking and flailing legs while William grabbed Joseph's other arm and kept it in the tightest grip he could. "Let me the fuck GO!"

"Anderson! Help your classmates!"

Blaine was sat behind Kurt, who of course didn't dare turn around, but a ripple of fear mixed with faith ran through his body when he didn't hear any sound of Blaine getting up.

Bickerly stared Blaine down for a relatively short moment with a look of thunder on his face before Kurt heard the scraping of Blaine's chair as he submitted to Bickerly and slowly moved in to join the fray. Kurt watched him grab a hold of the leg Scott was also holding and then, along with the four other boys, began to forcefully carry him over to the front desk where Bickerly was waiting. As Joseph had now been suitably restrained, Bickerly busied himself for a moment. He was concentrating hard on getting just the right combination in the beakers for whatever was about to take place.

He used a pipette to take a few drops from a red liquid that sat in the smallest beaker on the desk to which he added to a colourless liquid. Instead of turning a light red, or remaining colourless, as Kurt expected, the liquid started to turn green and great billows of smoke came from it as it started to bubble dangerously. Kurt's blood in his veins started to bubble in the same way. _Oh god. This looks dangerous._ Joseph must have realised something awful was about to happen because he tried even harder to get away, combined with a new tactic: Begging.

But the Dalton way had been ingrained into the minds of the boys and they didn't listen to reason. They had now pushed Joseph against Bickerly's desk and Bickerly, now satisfied that he had brewed whatever he was brewing correctly, took out some thick, leather straps and began to wrap them around Joseph's arm one by one tightly. Even from his seat, Kurt could see that Bickerly was purposely trying to hurt him - the forceful and vicious manner in which he bound Joseph's arm with the straps to some hooks under the desk had Joseph howling in pain at the unnecessary force. Like the table he was now stuck to, the hooks in which the straps had been wrapped around were steel and no matter how much he thrashed and twisted, he was held captive by his arm.

Bickerly sneered at his useless attempts to escape and turned his attention back to the chemical he had mixed up, which was now bubbling and spluttering fierier than ever. "HUMMEL!" He barked, whilst still concentrating on his creation.

Kurt visibly flinched but didn't respond. The silence made Bickerly look up angrily. "Are you going deaf, Hummel?"

Kurt stood up, shaking so much he thought his legs might give way. Bickerly pulled his attention from the mixture and focused on Kurt with a look of incredulous outrage etched all over his features. "Hummel, you better answer me or so help you..."

"No." The word left his mouth no more than a hoarse whisper but Bickerly heard it.

His nostrils flared in fury. "Come here, now," he snapped.

"No." Kurt was petrified, but knew he couldn't be a part of this. Not now, not ever.

"Hummel, you have three seconds to get over here."

"I-I'm not d-doing it."

"One."

"No."

"Two."

"No... No, I WON'T," Kurt shouted. He flinched at the sound of his own voice. It was the teachers and the mentors that shouted at them and Kurt had quite forgotten that he was capable of using his voice in such a manner. But he was angry now. For the past month, he had been beaten, humiliated, exposed and experimented on. He had been controlled, abused and tortured because of how he was born; how he was born attracted to other boys. Dalton had ground him down, but this new boy Joseph had given him a faint, new-found hope. There was an electricity in the air, like for the first time since being here, they might _win_. The desperation sparked something in him.

"What you're doing is WRONG," Kurt yelled loudly. "We are human beings, all of us, and deserve to be treated as such. Not like some second class citizens whose only crime is being attracted to the person we're attracted to and who are you to judge that, you twisted bastard?"

Bickerly was spitting venom whilst the other boys looked on hesitantly. Kurt barely noticed Wes stand up, a couple of seats away from him, nor did he notice Blaine move well away from Joseph, who had a new found hope in his eyes since Kurt had bravely refused to cooperate. Bickerly turned his attention to Wes.

"Bailey! Come h-"

"GO TO HELL!" Wes snarled.

"You are nothing but a BULLY," Kurt snapped in a high-strung voice; all the emotions he'd been forced to bottle up since arriving at Dalton coming to the surface. "All of you here are _bullies_ and not only are you bullies, but you and every other single member of staff here are all PSYCHOPATHS! You are all FUCKING CRAZY!"

At that moment the door to the classroom was flung open and Kurt barely had time to even take in the mentors rushing into the classroom and even less time to notice Karofsky heading straight towards him, before football tackling him to the ground. Kurt's back slammed roughly against the hard floor and he winced as shooting pains ran up and down the length of his spine. Karofsky settled his weight on top of him, easily keeping him on the ground with his weight, and pinned both of Kurt's arms above his head by his wrists. Kurt wasn't going anywhere for the time being. It wasn't so much the pain that Karofsky was delivering that upset Kurt; deliberately increasing force on Kurt's wrists so hard that he thought they might snap and break under Karofsky's weight, but it was the way that Karofsky was leering at him. Putting his face close to his and just grinning that horrible, sadistic grin that turned Kurt's stomach because he knew bad things were going to happen to him. From the corner of his eye, Kurt saw Wes getting the same treatment from another mentor, whilst three others had walked over to the Dalton boys that had obeyed their teachers command and hovered around them threateningly.

"Are you quite finished with your little queer outburst now?" Bickerly said, in a slow and bored voice. Now he was back in control of the class, his anger had died down and his usual sardonic personality had risen to the surface again. Without waiting for an answer, he walked back to Joseph, who had stopped struggling and shouting and now looked nothing more than a defeated enemy.

Without warning, Bickerly picked up the beaker with the green, bubbling liquid and poured the mixture directly over the restrained arm of Joseph.

The sound Joseph made was inhumane and it felt like it was ripping Kurt to shreds. He was screaming and crying and begging and moaning all at the same time. Karofsky grabbed Kurt's jaw roughly and turned his head to force him to watch his suffering. "You're missing your lesson, Hummel," he muttered meanly. Kurt's eyes leaked with tears as he saw the expression on Joseph's face. Tears were streaming down his cheeks too, as he howled and pleaded for it to stop whilst trying to pull his arm away. Bickerly stopped pouring the chemical and stood back, a faint hint of a smile on his face, but the damage was already done. Joseph's arm looked dangerously red and scalding and Joseph looked like he was going to pass out. He was yelling something, but not words. They had obviously been temporarily wiped from his mind at the sheer amount of pain he was enduring at that moment and the only things coming out of his mouth was garbled non-speech. He gradually quietened down before slumping head first onto the table. Bickerly _smirked_.

"The human body," Bickerly announced, in a loud voice that indicated he was back to teaching, "Can only take so much. A corrosive compound applied directly to the skin is highly painful and the amount of effort your body has to go through to be able to endure that pain may sometimes cause temporary insanity, as wonderfully demonstrated by new boy here." He gestured to Joseph earning appreciative chuckles from the mentors. Kurt felt sick.

"New boy -" Bickerly explained in the same, self-important tone, "- Is an example of how the body can sometimes simply shut down when under a great amount of physical and, more importantly, emotional pain. The visual and sound messages the eyes and ears send to the brain drive the body further into a panicked state of hysteria. I imagine new boy experienced a high level of that hysteria, but, as a trained professional, I can assure you I have not caused him any long term psychological damage." He gestured for the boys to return to their seats, which they did, without any argument. Kurt and Wes remained where they were, restrained against the weight of the mentors that had them pinned.

"The body," Bickerly said, walking over to the cabinet where he kept his chemicals, "as I said, simply cannot cope past a certain level when registering pain." Like the other teachers, Bickerly had a set of keys for various things, that hung safely on a necklace he wore at all times. He found the right key and unlocked the cabinet and busied himself by trying to find what he was looking for.

"You're in for it, Hummel," Karofsky whispered to Kurt viciously. "You are _so_ fucking in for it, and when he's done with you, you're gonna have me to worry about."

Kurt didn't respond. All fight was gone.

"The body can, however," Bickerly continued, locking the cabinet door and walking back over to his desk with a fresh batch of something in his hand, "endure a somewhat small, but nevertheless noticeable improvement when the pain factor is not experienced."

He ungraciously shoved the body of Joseph from his desk, but because he was still restrained, Joseph's unconscious form simply fell to the floor with one, very sore-looking arm hung up in a macabre manner. Bickerly reached for a cloth and held it over the beaker he had just got from his cabinet, tipping it upside down before placing the beacker back upright on his desk and began walking over to Kurt.

"Hummel will now demonstrate how much the body can endure when under the influence of chemical CHCI Three. Also known as methenyl trichloride and Trichloromethane."

_Oh god_.

"Or in layman's terms..." Bickerly said, turning to Kurt with a cruel, mocking smile. He kneeled down and pushed the cloth against Kurt's mouth and nose and although Kurt held his breath for so long that his head started to hurt and get dizzy, he was eventually forced to breathe and as he did so, his head felt light and eyes felt tired as he drifted into unconsciousness, drifted into obliviousness to what he was about to go through.

"...Chloroform," was the last thing that Kurt heard.

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><p><strong>I wasn't going to end it there, but I just had to, because of its length. This is a two-part chapter, so part two will deal with the consequence of what happened :S<strong>

**I will try and get it up ASAP, but I've got a feeling it will be the same length as this one and I have a few things going on (most importantly, my birthday :D) so don't have time to start work on it straight away.**

**For the attention of 'Loveena' who reviewed my other fic 'Monster': If you happen to be reading this, I'd like to ask if you you have an account on here? You raised some great points in your review and I wanted to respond to them :)**

**Please let me know what you thought! I love the feedback :) Even feedback like this: "**your[sic] sick...this is tourture[sic]...not normal..sorry its just so sad so see people like this and people can WRITE thiss[sic]**" :D  
><strong>

**Johnny **

**x  
><strong>


	6. The Dalton Way Part Two

**Wow. This took longer than I expected, I'm so sorry. **

**The thing that really kicked my arse into gear to complete this was a shopping trip a week or so ago. I've lived where I live for 21 out of the 25 years of my life, yet until that week I've never noticed this before: But I went into the city and randomly looked at one of the main roads in the very centre of my town and noticed the road was called 'Dalton Way'. **

** I swear, I have never noticed this before! But I took it as a sign to update urgently :) **

**I hope you enjoy this installment x**

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><p><em>"Kurt, honey... are you alright?"<em>

_Kurt was sat at the desk in his bedroom, his homework laid out neatly in front of him ready for him to complete, though he had spent the last half hour staring aimlessly at his revision books while the screen on his laptop remained wordless and blank. Thoughts had been running through his mind at a million miles an hour and it made him feel like his head was going to explode. He couldn't concentrate on a single thing, and he wasn't sure how much more of this shit in his life he could take. But he looked up into his mother's anxious eyes and managed a small, watery smile at her question._

_"I'm fine," he replied. His heartbeat quickened and stamped against his chest as he saw the recognition in his mother's eyes that said she didn't believe him. She was so worried about him, it wasn't fair. It was bad enough for him to have to deal with all of this, but at least his problems were his and his alone. It wasn't fair that she had to be dragged into all this. He couldn't do this to her. Not to his mother._

_"Really mom, I'm fine," he repeated, giving her a wider smile that he hoped was more genuine. "I'm just stressing because my exams are coming up. Once they're out the way I'll be fine."_

_She didn't look convinced - with good reason, as she produced a black book from behind her back. "Kurt, I found this -" Before she could get any more words out, Kurt had leapt up and snatched the offending item from her in an instant._

_"How dare you read my diary," Kurt snapped. He never raised his voice to his mom, she was the sweetest, most kindest mother in the whole world, but even so, he was mad at her right now. Probably the maddest he had ever been. Okay, so he hadn't hidden his diary in the best hiding place in the world (under his pillow) but there was still no way she would have found it unless she had been snooping. Or cleaning. And really, when Kurt had decided to hide his diary there, wasn't there a small part of him that secretly hoped it would be found? In the small hope that someone would put a stop to this? Or at least be aware of it to unload some of the burden off of him? Even so, he was slightly trembling at that moment and he didn't know whether it was from anger, nervousness or relief._

_"Kurt, I'm sorry, I truly am," she replied earnestly. "But I _have_ read it and there are things we need to talk about, sweetie. You can't just -"_

_"Mom, stop," Kurt said abruptly. "I know that you're trying to help and be understanding about all of this and I appreciate it, really I do. But you've invaded my privacy and I really can't talk to you right now." He placed the diary on his desk next to his laptop before he sat back down in his seat and rested his head in his hands. A long, uncomfortable silence hung in the air at that moment and Kurt closed his eyes, wondering whether he should take back what he said. But he felt vulnerable and exposed at having someone read his innermost thoughts and secrets and it put him at a mental disadvantage. He simply couldn't bring himself to apologise. Because an apology would lead to talking about things and talking was really the last thing he needed to deal with right now. He remained silent and with eyes still closed, he heard a shuffling of footsteps before his mother slowly made her way out of his room and shut the door behind her. _

_Kurt opened his eyes again._

"Do you remember your first day here, Hummel?"

Principal Lowry had been gazing thoughtfully out of the window of his office for a while, leaving Kurt alone with his thoughts and shifting uncomfortably in the uncomfortable seat Principal Lowry had nodded him to sit down into. Though after he asked this question, he focused his attention back to Kurt and smiled. His smile was not a pleasant one; it looked dangerous and calculating and fitted well on the mans twisted, aged face along with his beady little eyes and large hook nose. He raised his eyebrows indicating he was awaiting an answer, as he lowered himself into the comfortable looking seat behind his desk, opposite to where Kurt was sitting.

"Yes, sir," Kurt replied.

"And do you remember the assembly I gave on that morning, Hummel?" He asked, leaning forward and linking his fingers together in a business-like fashion. There was an almost playful yet ultimately dangerous tone to his voice as he asked this.

Kurt did indeed. The car journey from Lima to Westerville had been a long and silent one. Kurt had stared out of the window for the entire journey, watching the scenery whiz by, and it didn't go unnoticed by Kurt that as they left Lima and headed towards Dalton, the surroundings went from a fresh green to a dull, concrete grey. His dad had made no attempt at conversation and Kurt didn't bother to strike one up either. Pleading and bargaining had not worked and he had been made sure that in no uncertain terms, he was going to be attending Dalton. All because of what he did. All because of what had happened...

Principal Lowry had been standing at the main gates awaiting his arrival, and his mouth had broken into a grin when he spotted the car pulling up to the school grounds, and he had given them a jaunty wave. He was standing next to a large, menacing boy that Kurt would later come to recognise as his mentor, Dave Karofsky.

There had been some awkward small talk between Burt and the principal, the latter reassuring the former that his son would find an outstanding education here, that the firm but fair regime of Dalton would set him straight and that he had absolutely nothing to worry about, though Kurt privately thought that his dad was not in the slightest bit worried about that. He had looked up into his father's eyes for a final time but Burt couldn't and didn't meet his gaze. He hadn't been able to look at him properly ever since... _that_ day. Burt nodded a goodbye before he got back into the car and drove off without a backwards glance. A heavy hand had rested on Kurt's shoulder and he looked up to see Karofsky sneering down at him meanly. His Dalton nightmare was about to begin...

"HUMMEL!"

Kurt snapped out of his daydream to find the principal looking at him in slight disgust.

"So it seems that not only are you insolent, but your stupid brain is unable to focus on a single thing for more than ten seconds. You've been here a month and yet you still haven't seemed to learned the Dalton way." He gave a little smirk then. "It seems we may have to 'up the ante', so to speak, to ensure that Dalton will make a fine man out of you." He stood up from his seat and walked slowly around to the other side of his desk where Kurt was sitting.

"A _real_ man," he added as an afterthought, before he commanded: "Remove your blazer and roll up the sleeve of your shirt."

Kurt stood up on shaking legs and began to take off his blazer, not liking the fact that Principal Lowry was in such close proximity. He had been summoned to the principal's office a couple of times and although Kurt could safely say that he was not as bad as some (or even most) of the other staff at Dalton, the fact that he was the one who was running the school and behind this entire hellhole left an uneasy feeling in the pit of Kurt's stomach when he was left alone with the man. He rolled up his sleeve and waited further instruction. The stinging slap across the face that followed this action made him realise he had done something wrong.

"Are you stupid boy?" The principal snarled. "I want to see your other arm. The _damaged_ arm."

Kurt swallowed thickly and he felt his cheek burning up from the assault. He hadn't done that on purpose; though in hindsight it was obvious that Principal Lowry would be requesting to see the damaged arm courtesy of the 'experiment' done in science class. But subconsciously, though the pain in his arm had started to die down now, it was still burning with an itching raw soreness that had kept him trying to keep his arm as still and as level as possible, in order not to enflame any further pain. Even the material on his school uniform brushing against his tender skin was almost enough to make him cry.

Waking up from the chloroform had been a huge shock.

Firstly, because waking up from being forcefully knocked out was both alarming and disorientating. He'd had no idea where he was and for a horrible, heart-wrenching moment, he had even forgotten all about Dalton and had just been looking around at his surroundings in confusion, wondering why he didn't recognise this room in his house. The realisation, when it hit him, had hit him harder than any of the staff at Dalton ever had and he had slowly started to cry bitterly at the injustice of everything.

Secondly, because when he had finally gathered his mind together and had re-resigned himself to a life at Dalton, he had noticed his arm. He actually noticed his arm before he felt the pain that had been administered to it. True to his word, Bickerly, the science teacher, must have used his lifeless body for further demonstration and poured whatever concoction he had brewed up all over his arm as he lay there unconscious and oblivious to what was going on.

When he had regained his senses and had looked down at it for the first time, he had gasped. There was a somewhat thick and clear white coating adorning most of his forearm where the mixture had been poured but underneath, Kurt could see the raw flesh on his skin, stripped away and looking red and sore and somewhat _mutilated_. Kurt felt physically sick when he looked at it and felt sick now as he complied with the principals request and held out the damaged arm for him to inspect.

Principal Lowry's eyes gleamed in delight and he grabbed Kurt's wrist and used it to pull him towards him. Kurt bit back a gasp at the harsh contact. The principal let go of his wrist and motioned for Kurt to sit back down, which he did, while he walked over to one of the shelves in his office and pulled out some thick, leather straps. Kurt began to shiver with fear. As shaky as his bravado in Science had been that morning, it had at least been there. He had made a stand and refused to give into the Dalton way. But it had come at a price and without Joseph and Wes here joining him in making a stand, he felt defeated and utterly frightened.

But not frightened enough that he wished he would have just joined in with the punishment of Joseph. He was not that far gone. Yet.

Principal Lowry began to wrap the first strap across Kurt's wrist, bounding him to the arm of the chair he was sat in. Kurt knew full well that had he been taller, or looked more tough and menacing, that he would not have been left alone with the principal in his office. The principal would have certainly called in some Mentors as a backup had he felt the need and the fact that he didn't feel the need to do this was both humiliating and distressing to Kurt.

The straps were an old favourite of Dalton and had served the school well in its years; when Principal Lowry had finished attaching the first strap, it was so tight that it was almost cutting off Kurt's bloodstream and there was no chance Kurt could pull his arm away. Principal Lowry smirked, as though he could read Kurt's mind and he started to attach the strap that would bind his other arm to the chair.

"If I recall," Principal Lowry pondered, as he began looping the strap against Kurt's undamaged arm and tying it to the other arm of the chair, "You were late for your first assembly that morning."

Kurt didn't respond, even though the principals words were not true. He hadn't been late for his first assembly. He had been twenty seconds late for an assembly a couple of weeks later and had been punished for it, but there was no way he was late for his first assembly. Blaine, who had taken an instant liking to Kurt, had made sure he was early so he didn't face a reprimand for it.

"You were made to write an essay of the importance of timekeeping, yes?"

"Sir."

Again, this was not true. And just in case Principal Lowry realised this and was just choosing to fuck with him, Kurt chose to answer with neither an affirmative or a negative and instead just acknowledged the question that had been imposed upon him. In actual fact, the time he _was_ late for assembly, he had been summoned to this very office after the assembly had finished, ordered to pull down his pants and underwear and had proceeded to be caned twenty times - once for each second he had been late by.

Either the principal had a lousy memory or had given out so many punishments to so many students that he couldn't keep up, but mercifully he did not bring up the discrepancy as he finished attaching the second strap. Kurt had his eyes on the floor, staring at his plain, black shoes that all the students at Dalton wore, as identical and soulless as the rest of the schools uniform. Even though he wasn't looking at Principal Lowry, he could feel his self-satisfied gaze radiating onto him and he suppressed the urge to shudder in disgust.

"But it seems that after this little... _outburst_..." The principal said this last word as though it was vulgar as he walked around to another shelf and started to rummage through it. "...That the task of merely writing an essay is clearly lost on the likes of you. The words need to be ingrained into your mind. And the best way of doing this, I think, is for you to have a permanent reminder of the mindset of this school." Kurt's eyes dared to flicker upwards and they widened as they saw the instrument that Principal Lowry was holding. Such behaviour would have usually resulted in a disciplinary, but perhaps it was the pure shock and fear in Kurt's eyes that the principal got off on that allowed that little mistake to slip by. And Principal Lowry sure looked like he was getting off on it. There was a spiteful gleam in his eyes that only seemed to glow more as Kurt subconsciously tried to move his restrained arms even a tiny bit, to no avail at all.

"Yes," Principal Lowry repeated thoughtfully, as though talking to himself, though the way his voice was raised it was though he was not only talking to Kurt, but to an imaginary, adoring audience too. "I think that a message closer to home will do wonders for your much needed attitude adjustment if you're going to thrive from Dalton's fine institution." He walked over to Kurt and crouched down slightly so they were face to face. An instruction hadn't been given, but the way he was positioned in front of him, Kurt knew he was expected to meet the principals gaze, and so did. He wished he was more brave, but the glinting light bouncing off the metal in the principals hand caused a nervous tremor to run through the entire length of his body and he felt a sheen of sweat form over his forehead.

There was no warning. And had there been one, it wasn't like Kurt could do anything to get out of it. The chair he had been ordered to sit in was set firmly to the floor, perhaps in anticipation of any potential attempts of escape. It was so solid that Kurt doubted even a brute like Karofsky would have been able to rip it from the floor through the restraints. So when Principal Lowry took the scalpel and began slicing it into the raw coating of his injured forearm, all Kurt could do was scream. The principal seemed to relish his screams and proceeded with his punishment.

"You may think that we are doing this to merely torture you, Hummel," Principal Lowry said, as he busied himself with the task at hand and continued to mark small incisions into Kurt's arm. The pain was more than enough for Kurt, who kept his eyes away from the scene as he continued to scream as tears flowed unashamedly from his eyes. He certainly felt the outcome though; the metal slicing into his raw, burning flesh was a pain he had felt like no other and there was a churning pool of vomit swirling in the pit of his stomach at what he was being forced to endure.

"But that," Principal Lowry continued, "is simply not the case." He attacked Kurt's arm with the blade from a different angle now, and Kurt's heart was drumming against his chest so hard he honestly thought it might burst out from his ribcage. He was screaming so loud it sounded like a relentless siren and though it seemed to feed the principals sickening desires, Kurt couldn't help it. "We are here to help you, Hummel. To help you become a better man. To help rid you of these disgusting and unnatural desires you choose to accept. This is for your own good, you'll thank Dalton one day."

Kurt had always been bullied. At the time he had thought elementary and middle school was the worst he could experience at the hands of his tormentors... that is, until high school had opened his eyes and he had realised that worst was yet to come. But even so, he had always been true to himself, had always walked with his head held high and though it might have affected him deeply on the inside, he tried never to let it show on the outside. But Dalton was a different experience altogether. And right now, he knew that should he look in a mirror, the result of his terrorising would be blatant: He was crying, he was sweating and he had snot running down his nose in a most unattractive way. But this is what Dalton did. This was the Dalton way.

"P-Please," Kurt stammered. He knew this wasn't allowed but what else could they do on top of this to make him feel worse than he already did? In the back of his mind he knew that this reasoning was foolish - there was plenty the staff at Dalton could do to sink him lower but right now he wasn't exactly thinking rationally. The only thought in his mind was getting the hell out of this situation. "Please, sir, stop it," he begged weakly.

Principal Lowry was not one for begging and Kurt knew this. Yet when he paused from the task of engraving into Kurt's arm from the metal and walked away, a flicker of hope ran through Kurt's heart. As quickly as the flicker came, however, it certainly vanished as the principal returned to where Kurt was forced to be seated, with a gag in his hand and proceeded to force the steel ball into Kurt's mouth and then wrap the strap around Kurt's head to stop his pleading. Kurt unleashed all the pain he was enduring into the gag and though the steel ball that rattled against his teeth was restricting, at least it provided a temporary barrier that he could grit his teeth into and let it out as an outlet - not that it stopped the hot, painful tears cascading down his cheeks.

"Dalton is just trying to help you, Hummel," Principal Lowry said soothingly. He continued with his practice of making the sharp cuts into Kurt's raw arm and the sharp action mirrored against the supposed-to-be calming words of the principal resulted in a serious head-fuck. If he could have budged an inch to escape the pain, Kurt would have done, but the attempt was futile. He was bound to his position and there was to be no let up before the principal decided it so. His teeth were vibrating against the steel ball in his mouth.

"Just a little more," the principal added, as though trying to placate him. The final slices into his flesh felt as painful as the first ones, yet Kurt couldn't help feel a wave of relief wash over his body as Principal Lowry stepped back and looked down at his own handiwork admiringly. "There, all finished." It was like the conclusive words of a doctor who had just administered a disgusting, yet helpful medicine to a small child.

It took Kurt a while to regain his senses. Yet when he finally calmed down enough to look at the quote that was now engraved into his injured arm like a scalding, permanent tattoo and the words were sent into his brain, it almost sent him into a new state of nauseous panic:

_The staff here is severe, yet so altruistic_

* * *

><p>The bathroom in dormitory thirteen was disgusting and Kurt was sure that even if he showered a hundred times a day from now until forever, he would never be rid of the mouldy, grimy smell from his skin. Yet he was grateful for the free space he had right now. The small bathrooms that were situated in the back of each of the dormitories consisted of nothing more than a dirty toilet and sink, but were considered safe havens amongst the Dalton boys. Had it been earlier in the day, he would have been forced to resume normal service and had he needed to go to the bathroom to clean his wounds, it would have been to a communal one led there by his mentor, Karofsky, who would have certainly taken the opportunity to beat him. As it happened, it was nearing eleven o'clock in the evening and after Principal Lowry had administered his punishment, he had been forced to go straight to bed without supper. Karofsky had walked him back and had shoved him around a little bit but had generally left him alone. Kurt was not entirely happy about this, fearing that Karofsky's going easy on him would surely result in a harsher punishment in the next few days.<p>

But for now, he was alone and he was grateful for it. After he had quietly changed into his bedclothes, he had slunk past the other boys in his dormitory who were all in bed (apart from Wes and Joseph who had not yet returned from wherever they had been sent to after Science class earlier that day) and made his way to the dingy bathroom. The lighting was harsh and there was a smell that was overpoweringly gross but Kurt had perched himself on the edge of the toilet seat and forced himself to look at the etching on his arm.

_The staff here is severe, yet so altruistic_

What a lie. Yet it was permanently engraved in blood red against his pale skin now. Whatever chemical Bickerly had poured onto his arm had almost vanished, leaving the quote blatant and ugly and scarred. Kurt shuddered, and then immediately stiffened when he heard a bed creak. The door to the bathroom had no lock on it, of course, and was so flimsy it could easily be booted in, and it opened slowly. Kurt's breath hitched and his heartbeat began to quicken before he sighed in relief as the figure of Blaine shuffled in.

Blaine couldn't meet Kurt's eyes and though Kurt thought he knew the reason why, he wanted to tell Blaine it wasn't his fault, yet couldn't form the right words. So they remained in silence while Blaine wordlessly made his way over to the tap and turned it on as unobtrusively as he could. The water pipes were old and rusty and made a hell of a lot of noise and though they were permitted to use the bathroom, should a mentor catch both of them in here at the same time, they'd have a _lot_ of explaining to do.

He held Kurt's wrist and gently pulled him into a standing position over the sink. Blaine ran his free hand under the freezing cold water and proceeded to wet Kurt's arm as softly as he could. It didn't do much, but the kind action was almost enough to bring Kurt to tears.

"How do we survive this place?" Kurt whispered, after a while.

Blaine looked up and met his eyes for the first time. "Courage," he whispered back. "Hope. And the belief that we'll get out of here." He wavered uncertainly for a moment and Kurt looked down to the floor. He wanted to believe Blaine, but each day he was stuck here sucked the life out of him more and more. Even in the slightest chance they did escape, would they _ever_ really escape from the nightmares and torture they had been put through? The emotional scars may never fade.

Blaine turned off the tap and then sighed. "I'm so sorry, Kurt."

Kurt looked up in surprise. "What for?" he whispered softly. Blaine was averting his gaze again and looked like he was clearly struggling.

"For what happened in Science," Blaine explained quietly. "You were so brave. All three of you. And I did nothing."

Kurt shook his head. "Yes you did, Blaine. I saw the look Bickerly gave you. He had to stare you down for ages. I remember thinking you weren't going to do what he said and I was so scared for you. I was willing you to get up so he wouldn't punish you."

"_You_ didn't do what he said. And he punished you."

Kurt sort of half-shrugged, not knowing what to say, and Blaine fingered the quote on his arm gently. "The staff here is severe, yet so -"

"_Don't_, Blaine." The words came out harsher than he meant them, causing Blaine to flinch a little. "I'm sorry," Kurt added. "But I had to feel it, endure it and have it be a part of me forever without having hearing you say it to me too."

Blaine nodded once, indicating that he understood. There was another silence for a moment, before Blaine spoke up hesitantly. "At school... before I came here, I mean, I... there was an incident with these guys who were causing me trouble. I tried to brush it off, keep to myself, but one day, I'd just have enough. I snapped. I tried to stand up to them. And for a while, I thought it had worked. And then..."

Blaine sniffed, and Kurt reached out and squeezed his shoulder soothingly. Blaine gave him a weak smile. "...And then one evening, just as we were all settling down, we were watching TV and someone... those guys, they... they threw a brick through the window. My sister... she was seven months old... she was lying in her crib when the brick smashed the window and the glass... it smashed and..." Blaine was sobbing silently, his whole body racking with tears that he couldn't release properly in case someone would hear, but Kurt had heard enough and pulled him into a tight, comforting hug. They stayed like that for a while, Blaine using Kurt's shoulder as a muffler as his grief poured out of him. The thought that they would be put through The Ring every day for the rest of their being here, or something even worse if they were caught in this position didn't even cross Kurt's mind. At that moment, Blaine needed him and Kurt was going to help, even if all he could do was hug him to let him know that he was there.

"Were the police involved?" he whispered, so softly in case Blaine didn't want to answer and could ignore him if he wanted. Kurt felt Blaine shake his head against his shoulder.

"No," he sniffed. "Well, they were, but there was no proof who did it and they didn't follow it through. My parents blamed me, blamed me being gay. They sent me here. My sister still bears the scars... she doesn't even know I exist." He eased himself from the embrace and looked at Kurt earnestly. "But Kurt, I wanted to make a stand earlier with Joseph. I wished I had, I really do. I was just scared. It just bought back memories..."

Kurt nodded, his own unwanted memories of his mother and the events that led to his arrival at Dalton rushing to his brain. "I understand, Blaine," he replied softly. And he really did.

Just then, they heard the main door to the dormitory being opened and they jumped away from each other in a shot. Kurt was staring at Blaine through wide, horrified eyes and Blaine looked like he was going to be sick from fear. They heard slow footsteps coming towards the bathroom and just as Kurt thought that they were both done for, the bathroom door swung open to reveal the shaking figure of Wes. He looked terrible, like he had been through a war, yet all Kurt could see was Wes' own etching scratched into the dark skin on his arm. Even from the distance between them, Kurt could read what Wes had had to bear:

_Forget the things you thought you knew, we'll make a very good boy of you_

* * *

><p>"Thank you, Kurt."<p>

Kurt, who had been tending to Wes' wounds in the same kindly yet futile manner that Blaine had tended to his, threw him a tired smile, and remained focused on cleaning the scarring with cold water. "It's nothing."

They had been in the bathroom for almost twenty minutes together now. Blaine had made a departure at the arrival of Wes, who did not look best pleased with him. Kurt wanted to explain why Blaine had given in, but did not feel comfortable at telling Wes something so intimate, something that Blaine had obviously had great difficulty in revealing to him, and so instead he had changed the subject, gently probing Wes as to what his own punishment detailed. It was pretty similar, though Wes' 'tattoo' had been given by a bunch of mentors who had apparently not been as delicate as the principal had been with his.

Wes shook his head. "Not for this. For what you did." Kurt met his eyes for an explanation. "The way you stood up for Joseph earlier, it was so brave. For the first time since being here, I had hope. I've _got_ hope. It's the first time I've ever felt alive, like we've got some chance of getting out." He gestured to his arm. "It hurts, but that's all. I'll endure hurt if it means a chance at escape. I'll do _anything_ to get us out of here, Kurt, I promise."

Kurt nodded hesitantly. "Same to you."

Wes shifted for a moment, as though he was going to say something, but then the boys heard the telltale noise of the dormitory door being opened again. They waited warily, both staring at the door to the bathroom and as Kurt half expected, it opened slowly and in walked Joseph. His hair looked matted and his eyes wild as he closed the door behind him and leant his back against it. Kurt's eyes flickered down to Joseph's inscription:

_The new boys are tender, the old ones sadistic_

"I have to get out of here," Joseph announced, worryingly calmly. He moved away from the door and advanced to Kurt and Wes. "Can I trust you?"

"Yes," replied Wes as Kurt asked, "With what?"

Joseph looked back at the door and then back to the boys, before beckoning them to come closer, which they did. His words were barely audible now. "I need to get out of here," he said. "I can't do it alone but if we work together we can all escape. I think we should make a break for it."

"What if they catch us?" Kurt asked fearfully. "We'll be in deep shit."

"We'll be in deep shit anyway," Wes replied, to which Joseph nodded hurriedly. "For something or for nothing," Wes added, "they'll find any excuse to make our lives hell."

"We need to do it now," Joseph interjected anxiously. "It's almost midnight. Tonight's our best chance."

"Our best chance for what?" Kurt asked. Joseph motioned towards the bathroom door.

"I'll explain on the way," he replied. He turned to Kurt. "Change into your clothes and put your shoes on as quickly and quietly as possible from the second I open this door." Joseph had not changed into his bedclothes yet. "I'll be waiting by the dormitory door."

The doors to the dormitories were not locked at night. Should any staff enter the dorms at night for a visit to check that the students weren't engaging in immoral acts, they wanted the element of surprise and the sound of a deadbolt being slid open or a key being inserted would have given the game away. And locked doors were the least of their worries. Dalton was so heavily guarded and watched that there was no need to keep the boys confined by locks in their sleeping place. Kurt wanted to know what Joseph's plan for getting out of the highly-observed school was but Joseph had already opened the door and padded silently back into the bedroom and gestured to Kurt and Wes to follow him.

They complied with Joseph's order and Kurt tiptoed back to his bed. The full moon was glinting through a small slit in one of the windows, casting a makeshift stream of glow across the room. Kurt cast his eyes over the various beds to see if the others were awake, but his eyes were still adjusting to the dark away from the harsh lighting in the bathroom so he couldn't see properly. It took him quite a while to get changed. Wes, like Joseph, had not changed into his bedclothes from his return and had joined Joseph by the dormitory door and they were both alternating between watching Kurt's progress and pressing their ears against the door to try and hear if anyone was coming.

Kurt had changed into his pants already and was now pulling a sweater over his head before he stepped into his shoes and bent down on one knee, proceeding to tie his shoelaces. He looked up over to Blaine's bed but all he saw was a lump under the bedcovers. He silently willed him to wake up. He tied the final knot in his shoelace and then began to work on the other one. _Come on, Blaine, wake up_. It didn't work, and Kurt stood up shakily, realising, for the first time, that his heart was hammering against his chest at a million miles an hour. He was sure that it was loud in the dark silence of the room but nobody seemed to be stirring. He crept quietly over to Joseph and Wes.

"What about the others?" Kurt whispered.

Joseph shook his head hurriedly. "There's no time," he whispered back urgently.

"But -"

"No!" Joseph hissed harshly. "It's now or never." He grit his teeth, wincing, as he pulled open the door, squeezing his eyes shut as the hinges on the door creaked loudly in the dead of night. He pulled it open enough so there would be enough room for them to sneak out and then motioned for them to go outside.

"I'm not sure about this," Kurt whispered warily, as Wes brushed past him and crept silently out of the room and into the corridor. "Joseph, what's your pl-"

Kurt didn't manage to finish his sentence because Joseph had pushed him hard right in between his shoulder blades, sending him sprawling full force into Wes, causing them both to fall onto the stone floor of the corridor. The thud the push caused would no way go unnoticed by whichever staff was on night duty. Wes groaned loudly as he fell on the floor, but he couldn't help it; his injured arm had been crushed by landing on it, along with the full weight of his own body and Kurt's as well. Kurt didn't check if he was alright for the moment, instead turning back to the dormitory door angrily, just in time to see Joseph's malicious, triumphant smirk and that fresh, raw quote on his arm:

_The new boys are tender, the old ones sadistic_

Kurt stood up and threw himself against the door, pushing all his weight against it, but it was no use. He turned back to Wes and helped him up. Wes was nursing his injured arm but all the same helped Kurt trying to open the door back up by ramming his non-injured shoulder into the door. But the slight scuffles they heard on the other side of the door indicated that Joseph was trying his hardest to keep it shut. Harsh whisperings from Joseph that awakened the others in the dormitory confirmed that he had roped in some of the other boys to help keep them out. If Wes and Kurt got caught, it'd keep the heat off of the rest of them for a while for sure. If Wes and Kurt had to be sacrificed in order for that to happen, then so be it. That was just the Dalton way.

Of course Ralph and Scott would have jumped at the chance to do this, and William too, for he was that scared of everything that Dalton had to offer. Joseph may have managed to bully Anthony into doing it as well and though Kurt knew there was no way Blaine was joining in on ganging up on Wes and Kurt, he was only one boy against five of them. Their only hope now was that nobody had heard the commotion and the staff wouldn't bother doing their routine night checks.

But of course it was not to be. Kurt's heart plummeted as he heard slow, calculated footsteps making their way towards them. Wes looked at him anxiously and Kurt just half-shrugged in defeat, before bracing himself for whatever was coming.

The corridor was dark and though the footsteps had grown louder, the person who the footsteps belonged to still remained to be seen. It was only when the figure was a few feet away from them that they were revealed, and the twisted smile of Karofsky was enough to send a revolted shiver down Kurt's spine. Karofsky looked like he had struck gold.

"Out of bed after hours, boys? The principal won't like that. He'd be furious to be woken up at this hour because of your late night antics."

They just stared, unable to say anything, rooted to the spot with fear. There was a flash of inspiration as Kurt was lost in thought for a second, imagining his fist driving right into Karofsky's jaw. But he knew it wouldn't do shit. It would only drag him down further.

"Which is exactly why I'm taking you both there. Right now."

* * *

><p><strong>I hate what I'm doing to these guys, honestly. I can't even say it'll get better, because I don't know if it will yet.<strong>

**A short authors note: This fic was started maybe like... five years ago? It was originally based in the Harry Potter fandom. So the punishment in regards to the 'tattoos' that were put to the 'miscreants' of Dalton was actually based on the punishment created by Professor Umbridge in Harry Potter book 5 when she had that special quill that forced inscriptions into Harry's hand (those who have read it should know what I'm talking about) :)  
><strong>

**Please review! Your reviews keep me going! And please let me know your ideas and thoughts and questions etc. **

**I hope, and sincerely will try to not let the next update go as long as this one took.**

**Until next time,**

**Johnny xx**


	7. After Hours

**Hi.**

**Before I say anything else, I just want to mention that the quotes inscribed on the boys arms in the last chapter were taken from the Rasputina song "Girls School". I forgot to include that in the last authors notes.**

**Thanks so much for the reviews and story alerts and stuff :)**

**Hope you enjoy the next chapter x**

* * *

><p>"Seventeen, sir."<p>

Kurt was bent over Principal Lowry's desk with his pants and underwear around his ankles. His ass felt like it was on fire and he was sure that by the end of this ordeal, it would be blistered. Karofsky had been right, of course; the principal had not at all been pleased at being awoken at this ungodly hour and was sure as hell making sure Kurt knew what he thought about it. Not only was he hitting him with as much force as he could muster, but he was using a paddle that had some raised metal bumps on it, that was slowly but surely stripping away the top layers of Kurt's flesh with every stinging strike. Each blow sent his body rocking forward, even though he was gripping onto the desk for dear life, so hard that his knuckles were growing white. He wanted nothing more than to curl up on himself, nursing his injured ass, though he knew that that would result in a hundred more spanks.

The next smack came hard and fast and sent a fresh surge of hot, raw pain all over the entire length of his body. Kurt bit back a gasp and squeezed his eyes shut hard, trying desperately not to let the hot tears forming in the corners of his eyes falling down his cheeks and making themselves known.

"Eighteen, sir," he announced, shakily.

He thought he was going to vomit. Normally, the principal would be making sarcastic, 'helpful' comments in between each hit, but there were none tonight. He was using all of his energy into delivering the hits, making sure that he put the entire weight of his body into his arm and hit Kurt so hard that each time, his legs wobbled unsteadily and both of his feet were almost lifted from the ground. He could feel something warm and wet trickling in between his legs and realised that the strikes the principal was administering were so hard he had started to bleed. Oh god. A single, solitary tear escaped from his closed eyes and rolled down his cheek. He knew better than to lift a hand to wipe it though.

He felt the pure hatred in the next strike and because he couldn't make a sound without receiving further punishment, all the screams were in his head. His entire mind felt like it was going to explode from the amount of screaming; all coherent thoughts had vanished and all he could hear was yelling and crying. It was so loud it gave him a headache and he thought his eardrums might burst.

"N-Nineteen, sir."

He almost faltered, but he shouldn't get punished for 'almost'. As cruel as the principal was, as long as Kurt followed order, he'd be in safe (for lack of better work in this situation) territory. Not like Bickerly, or Banks, or any of the mentors, who would be watching and listening for the slightest slip up, only to pounce on them and double or even triple the abuse. He could feel the warmth trickling down his right calf now and he chanced a look down, only to wish he hadn't as he saw a couple of fresh, red spots on the floor. He knew they were from his wounds because the many other red patches had long dried and dyed into the wooden floor of the principals office. The wooden panels were tinged a dull, dark red and there was hardly any of the original colour of the wood left.

He shut his eyes again, to stop the room from spinning round, though his head still swum and his stomach churned with nausea. He was sweating - he could feel his hair sticking to his forehead with perspiration. But even so, there was a cold chill running through his body and made him feel like he was going to pass out. He had been sent to bed without supper following the punishment yesterday when Principal Lowry had carved the quote into his arm and the lack of food certainly wasn't helping. His stomach felt like an empty pit, though admittedly, food was the last thing on his mind right now. He wanted nothing more than to go back to his bed and curl up, away from the horrors that Dalton Academy was inflicting.

Kurt cried out.

He couldn't help it; the next strike was so hard that his arms - that were supporting the entire weight of his body - buckled from the force of the smack from the paddle and his head crashed against the shiny oak table. The pain that he felt when his head made contact with the wood caused everything to go black for a couple of seconds, and vibrated a dull ache all over his body. He only came to when Principal Lowry delivered a further three strikes right in the crack of his ass that made him want to howl out in pain again. All the same, he knew he had to acknowledge the strikes. He used the last bit of strength he had inside of him to straighten his arms and force himself back into position.

He quickly garbled out: "Twenty, twenty one, twenty two, twenty three, sir." He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut once more, waiting for the next one. Nothing happened for a while, so Kurt remained in the same position. After a while, he heard footsteps walking away from behind him and he opened his eyes yet kept them locked on the table in front of him. From the corners of his eyes, he saw the principal put the paddle back on one of the shelves, away with the rest of his instruments, before he walked back over to the desk, to the left side of Kurt. He grabbed his chin roughly and tilted his head back, forcing Kurt to look at him.

"I want you to remember this beating, Hummel," he practically snarled, the fury in his eyes clearly apparent. "If you step out of line again, you'll be receiving it every single night for the rest of the year, understood?"

Kurt nodded as best as he could within the grip and replied, "Yes sir." Principal Lowry gave a small nod and released the hold. Kurt let his head fall forward limply, like a deadweight. Principal Lowry began sorting through some papers on his desk and nothing was said for a while. Before he even realised what he was saying, Kurt had stammered: "M-May I leave, sir?"

Principal Lowry looked up thoughtfully and Kurt's heart sank. He should have known better than to ask.

After a long and horrifying silence, during which Kurt had already resigned himself to receiving a repeat performance of this for at least the rest of the week, the principal announced, "Off you go. And I've hoped you've learned your lesson."

"Yes sir," Kurt replied. He bent down slowly, so as to not aggravate the pain he was feeling in his backside. Every single small movement was like a carving knife being sliced into his ruined flesh. He pulled up his underwear, wincing when the tight material rested against the cuts and the bruised welts on his ass. He did the same with his pants and then slowly shuffled towards the door, pulling it open weakly.

Karofsky and Wes were outside. The former was whispering vicious things into the latter's ear, though he stopped when he saw Kurt departing from the principal's office and grinned evilly. His grin grew wider as he saw Kurt walking with a limp, in obvious discomfort from the beating he had endured. Kurt looked away, and instead focused on Wes, who was looking at him with a mixture of fear, knowing he would have to endure the same, and sympathy, from what Kurt had just been through. Kurt had to break his gaze away from Wes too; his sympathy was enough to bring him to tears and he did not want to give Karofsky the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

The principal announced he wanted to see Wes, who stood up slowly, casting a final look of resignation to Kurt, who only saw it from the corners of his eyes.

"I'll be back for you, Bailey," Karofsky spat, as Wes made his way into the principals office, before he shut the door behind him. He then turned his attention back to Kurt. "Did it hurt, Hummel?"

Kurt didn't respond, and although Karofsky would have done it anyway, Kurt's refusal to reply seemed to make him angry and he grabbed Kurt's forearm roughly and used it to forcibly lead him down the corridors, back to his dormitory. He was walking purposely fast, so that Kurt almost fell over in trying to keep up with him. He was forced to take large strides in order to keep up with the older and bigger mentor, and he found that this caused an agonising pain on his ass as it rubbed uncomfortably against the scratchy material of the Dalton uniform.

"You're never going to get out of here, Hummel," Karofsky said, as he led him down the corridor. His tone was low and purposeful. "I'm gonna make sure that you will _never_ leave. I'll make sure you fucking _die_ in this place, queer."

Kurt was numb. The brief spark of hope he had felt at the chance of escape had already dulled into a distant dream, but all the same, hearing Karofsky's spiteful words was like a confirmation, no matter how much he didn't want to believe them. The words were echoing in his mind, taunting him from every angle and his knees suddenly buckled. He collapsed onto the floor in weak defeat, though Karofsky immediately hauled him back up to a standing position and laughed out loud. His laughter was mocking and cruel and rang around the empty school corridors. He knotted two meaty fists in the front of Kurt's shirt and used the grip to slam his back against the stone wall. The action made the back of Kurt's head connect with the wall and it sent a dull, vibrating ache down his spine, reverberating in his ears loudly.

"Feeling weak?" Karofsky sneered, getting too close into Kurt's personal space, so close that Kurt felt like throwing up at the hot, rank breath ghosting against his face. "I bet you're real hungry," he added, licking his lips slightly. Kurt shut his eyes weakly, earning himself another hard slam against the wall indicating that closing his eyes was not an option right now. Kurt sucked in air through his teeth, and fought hard against closing his eyes again from the sheer pain it caused.

"You want something to eat, Hummel?" Karofsky continued viciously. "Well I got something for you to eat."

Kurt's mouth suddenly felt very dry as he realised what Karofsky was referring to and he looked at him with wide eyes. At that point, something seemed to trigger inside of Karofsky, who immediately released his grip from Kurt's shirt, before backing away slowly.

"Go to bed," he mumbled, after an uncomfortable silence had passed. Kurt's heart was hammering against his chest, but all the same, he stared at Karofsky for a while, all thoughts of blatant insolence not going unpunished vanishing from his head. Karofsky stared at him in anger for a moment, before he looked shamefaced and turned his attention to a spot near Kurt's feet.

"I'm not going to tell you again, Hummel," Karofsky spat. "Bed. Now."

* * *

><p>Kurt would never forget the day when he turned up to his old school wearing a vintage Alexander McQueen jacket. The importance of owning such a piece of history was lost on most of the unwashed masses at McKinley, yet it didn't matter, because it was <em>his<em>. He had debated whether to wear it to school or not, but in the end had decided it would be unfair of him to keep such a fabulous item of clothing to himself. He soon realised that that decision had been a mistake, however, when one of the Neanderthal jocks dumped a blueberry slushy over his head as he had been making his way to the cafeteria for lunch. As the ice coldness dripped down his face and trickled uncomfortably down his neck, Kurt had looked down and seen the previously pristine white jacket now tinged a disturbing shade of blue.

The only thing Kurt had on his mind at that moment was rage. Pure and utter rage. Yet it was nothing compared to how he was feeling right this very second.

Karofsky had continued to march him to his dormitory after their little incident and they had completed the rest of the journey in silence. He had flung the door open and jerked his head towards the door, indicating Kurt to go in, which he did. The door was shut behind him, yet Kurt made no move to go to bed.

He felt his fists clenching of their own accord and his whole body was actually shaking and fizzing with white-hot rage as he stared at Joseph's bed. It was dark, so he couldn't tell whether Joseph was awake or not, but all Kurt could see imprinted in his mind was the malicious smirk on Joseph's face as he locked them out of the dormitory earlier that night. What the hell was his problem? What happened to all that stuff about sticking together in Science? Had it all been a front? Whatever the reason, Kurt didn't care. He had to deal with enough bullshit from the staff at Dalton without having to endure it from his fellow students too. And as Joseph wasn't staff, Kurt felt it perfectly justified to hit him. But not just hit him. Kurt wanted to rip his hair out by the roots. He wanted to gouge out his eyeballs. He wanted to feel Joseph's skin embedded under his fingernails as he tore strips off of him. He wanted him _destroyed_.

It took every bit of self-restraint and reasoning not to confront him right there and then; it was only Kurt's rational voice advising him that causing another scene and having Karofsky haul him to the principal _again_ would not be a good idea. Instead, he satisfied himself by giving Joseph's bed a long, cold and hateful glare, before slowly making his way over to his own and changing into his bedclothes for the second time that night.

Once changed, Kurt sat down on his bed, wincing at the harsh pain that ran through his ass at the contact. Gingerly, he tucked his feet under the covers and was about to lie down when a low voice cut through the dark silence of the room.

"How's your ass, Kurt? I bet Lowry did a real number on you. I think I heard your screams all the way from here." It was Joseph.

"Fuck you, Joseph," Kurt snapped. He heard Joseph's smirk from the other side of the room and it was almost enough for Kurt to throw back his covers, run over to Joseph's bed, and start pounding his face in.

"Where's Wes?" Joseph continued maliciously. "Bet he's not coming back tonight. He probably got beaten so bad, he's haemorrhaging right now. I wouldn't be surprised if he was in a coma or something."

"Why did you do it, Joseph?" Blaine, evidently, was not asleep, and his tone was angry and accusatory. Now his eyes had adjusted better to the dark, Kurt heard some rustling and saw Blaine had sat up in bed, demanding an explanation. "What happened to sticking together?"

"Fuck sticking together," Joseph snapped. Something had triggered inside of him and he now seemed genuinely angry. "I'm looking out for myself. It's the only way I'm gonna survive this place."

"By dragging us down?" Kurt cried, the heat of the moment making him forget that it was bedtime. "You set us up, you bastard. You deliberately set us up to take a fall, and for what? A night of peace? A night of not getting hit and beaten and punished because they were doing it to us instead? It only means they're going to do it to you tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. You're never going to escape this."

"I may not be able to escape but if setting you up means taking the heat off of me, then you better make damn well sure that that's what I'm gonna do," Joseph replied.

"You're sick," Blaine spat.

"Aw, did I hit a nerve?" Joseph asked in mock concern. Kurt pushed himself from the sitting position on his bed and strode over to where Joseph was lying down. Blaine immediately sprung out of bed too; going over to where Kurt was standing, placing an arm on his in a placatory way, so as not to let the situation escalate out of hand.

"You _are_ sick," Kurt spat. "It's bad enough that the teachers and the mentors put us down, but the one thing we can't do is turn on each other." Joseph just simply smiled up at him infuriatingly.

"Guys..." William's voice was soft in comparison to the others, but Kurt heard the warning, reprimanding tone in that one word. It was too little, too late, because just then, the dormitory door was flung open and revealed the none-too-impressed figure of Banks, the Gym teacher. Banks caught sight of the hold Blaine had on Kurt's arm, causing Blaine to immediately release Kurt's arm as though it had caught on fire.

Both boys took a step back away from Joseph, who, in comparison, looked relatively cool and collected as he laid in bed, as though he knew he wasn't going to be on the receiving end of Banks' wrath. Banks was a horrifying lump of a man - his muscles had muscles and he was big and large and his presence made itself known as soon as he stepped into a room. Kurt physically felt the colour drain from his face as Banks flicked the light switch and stared at Kurt and Blaine in the utmost disgust.

Nothing was said for a while. Not until Banks' barked: "CREWE!"

William sat up in bed slowly. "Sir?"

"What's going on in here, Crewe?"

William hesitated, only for a split second. "Sir, Hummel came back from the principals office and started arguing with Maloney."

Kurt grit his teeth in suppressed anger at the twisted retelling of the events that had taken place earlier.

"And what was the argument about, Crewe?" Banks enquired. His tone was laced with slight amusement, as though he found the whole affair quite funny.

"Sir, Hummel got sent to the principals office by Karofsky about an hour ago and he thinks it was down to Maloney," William replied. "Hummel came back and started shouting at Joseph and then Anderson joined in too and they ganged up on him."

Kurt was livid. Not only did he want to hurt Joseph, he now wanted to hurt William just as bad. He didn't _think_ getting summoned to the principals office was down to Joseph - he knew it _was_ down to Joseph! Had William been asleep during the attempted breakout? Was he blind, stupid, or just plain scared of Joseph that he felt the need to lie? Whatever the reason, it wasn't good enough. Kurt wanted to cause serious injury to that boy. The fleeting thought that Dalton was indeed changing him crossed his mind, for he had never harboured such venomous thoughts to anybody - even the bullies at his old school who had made his life hell. It simply wasn't in his nature, though seemingly, now it was.

Banks chuckled. "Well it seems that we have some scores to settle," he announced, deliberately loudly. "I've always said that the best way to settle these things is in the ring." Kurt shuddered involuntarily at hearing that word, even though he knew Banks was talking about a boxing ring and not the ring that the Dalton boys were put through to 'modify' their 'imbalances.'

"We will settle this tomorrow," Banks continued, in that same self-important tone. "I'd planned some dodgeball for Gym, but I think a fist fight would be more befitting, going by the little altercation that's been played out tonight." He seemed quite cheerful at this announcement, though when it was over, his bad mood returned and his features darkened. "Now get to bed. One more word out of anyone and I will put my boot so far up your ass you'll be tasting the shit on my treads."

He flicked off the light switch as Kurt and Blaine made their way back to their respective beds. It was astonishing that Banks hadn't inflicted some kind of punishment for catching them out of their beds after hours, but Kurt supposed that this fight that had been set up tomorrow was going to make up for that. The door was slammed shut and the heavy footfall of Banks grew quieter as he made his way down the corridor.

Once it was safe enough, Joseph's voice cut through the darkness once more. "I'm going to beat the shit out of you, Kurt. I'm going to fuck you up so bad, you'd think I was a mentor."

Kurt didn't respond, though it was not out of fear. He was taking in every word Joseph was saying to him, taking them in and absorbing them fully. There was a fire lit in his stomach and these words were only adding fuel to the burning flame.

Tomorrow, Kurt's fury would be unleashed and Joseph wouldn't have a clue what had hit him.

* * *

><p><strong>Ooh, cliffhanger! <strong>

**I was going to extend this longer but I didn't want it to turn into the length of the previous chapter and have a long wait for it to be updated. What does everyone think so far? Joseph is truly a bastard, right!  
><strong>

**I'm not best pleased with this installment, so it might take a little bit longer for the next one to come up, so I'm pleased with the outcome when I post it.**

**Please review, it keeps me writing, and I love hearing all your kind words and comments.**

**Until next time.**

**Johnny xo**


	8. Banks Crew

**Bad Johnny.**

**I'm so sorry that this took so long to update. I tried to get it down within a month and then a month passed and I vowed to get it done within two... Well here's presenting chapter eight after two months and one day.**

**This chapter is from different perspectives and does not move the story forward... you'll get why at the end. **

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed and I hope you enjoy the installment even though it took long to upload =]**

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><p>Having to deal with the filth at Dalton made Banks sick to his stomach.<p>

It made him sick to have to physically be around these queers twenty four seven, having to breathe the same air as them, live in the same space as them. And most of all, it made him sick to his stomach that this once fine institution known as Dalton - a school he himself had attended many years ago - was now home to scummy little gay boys, fucking faggots that should have been strangled and killed at birth to do the rest of the world, the _decent_ people, a favour. A new one arrived today too. Hummel. He looked queer as fuck. He couldn't wait until he got his hands on him.

Banks tilted his head back and took a long swig from his glass. His chosen poison for the night was vodka - and lots of it. The measurements had started somewhat sensibly earlier on but by now had increased to a fifty percent vodka and fifty percent coke mix. A couple of the other teachers were on night duty tonight and as it was Saturday tomorrow, he'd get a lie in. Queers wouldn't; the mentors would see to that, but as the night was free and it was almost midnight, he figured he deserved a drink. For putting up with having to watch the boys so intently all day. Only to make sure they didn't step out of line, of course...

A dark cloud of fury washed over him then and he sank back more of his drink to rid the thoughts from his mind. It was like he couldn't escape. It was _everywhere_ he turned. He saw the way the boys gave little lingering looks to each other, wistful, just wishing that they had some alone time so they could get up to whatever sick things that homos did when they were together. He saw the way they watched each other in the showers; sly glances when they thought nobody was looking, checking each other out... _He_ watched them, but only to make sure that everything ran smoothly and the sick fucks didn't get any ideas. And really, when it came down to it, faggots were nothing more than dogs; they'd fuck anything with a dick if they had half the chance. He watched their cocks stiffen when they were presented with other boys naked bodies in the showers...

So he _had_ to beat them then, he _had_ to put them in their place because otherwise, how would they ever learn? And they did end up learning, eventually. Most of them. The ones that _wanted_ to learn. And as he drove fists of steel into stomachs and slammed heads against walls so hard that it threatened haemorrhage, it provided him with a temporary distraction from the bile that rose up from his stomach and threatened to spill and it made him more determined to beat the gay out of them, out of _all_ of them.

He cast a drunken look round his bedroom. The living quarters for the staff and mentors were, as they should be, much more luxurious and homely than any of the dormitories for the Dalton scum, but at this moment, the room seemed small and it was like the walls were closing in on him. He felt trapped. He needed to get out of here. He needed...

Banks gave his head a shake and took another long sip of his drink, letting the vicious liquid slide down his throat and lighting an inferno in his stomach. He hated when he got like this, but it was no surprise when he had to be around these fucking queers for as long as he was. He started to get hot under the collar and irritated and he could hear taunts and mocking laughter ringing in his ears so loud he thought his head might explode. He couldn't take it. He couldn't take it anymore. The rush of laughter grew louder and more mocking and now he could visualise the faggots pointing at him. Smirking. Whispering. _Looking_ at him. Looking at him as though they wanted him, which they did. He was a man and they liked men. Fucking dirty scum.

Banks' eyes caught sight of the wooden cross mounted on one of the walls and though he wanted nothing more than to look at anything else but that, he remained transfixed, completely unable to look away. Panic started to rise into his chest as he knew what was coming and his breathing became more erratic as he slowly realised the end result and even though it might put all of his hard work at risk, he couldn't help but want it. Even though it might unhinge him to the point of absolutely no return, he couldn't help it. Keeping his eyes locked onto the cross and silently pleading to God for deliverance, he allowed more of the vodka past his lips and eventually finished the glass.

But he now knew that redemption would not be granted for him tonight. He was too far gone and he was fucked. He was fucked and he was as ugly as sin. The taunts grew louder but Banks continued to stare at the cross until he could not let it consume him any longer. He stood up, breaking eye contact with the cross quickly, the sounds of shrieking laughter and blood rushing through his ears vanishing almost as quickly as he did so. He didn't realise how drunk he was until the sound of the chair he had been sitting on crashed to the floor and broke through his haze. He giggled stupidly for a moment before the depression washed over him once again and had he not been so strong, he would have sank to his knees, buried his face in his hands and sobbed uncontrollably. Sobbing for what might have been, could have been, but never was...

No. Although punishment might have been needed or deserved, he would not torture himself any longer tonight. He was too far gone and past the point of no return. There was only one thing that would sate his hunger now. And until he got it, he would be constantly empty inside...

* * *

><p>Having to deal with the daily grind of Dalton life made William Crewe sick to his stomach.<p>

It wasn't the disgusted kind of sickness, but the type that was caused by fear and fear was in abundance at Dalton Academy. The teachers knew it, the mentors knew it and the students knew it. The only ones that seemingly didn't know it were the parents and this crushed William's spirit more than anything. He thought his parents loved him, yet if they truly did then how could they send him to such a place? Why? When he was first transferred here, they had sent him off with bright eyes and warm smiles, thinking that he would be safe. And for a foolish, fleeting moment, just seconds before their car pulled away from the academy, he had thought that maybe, just maybe, he had gotten Dalton all wrong. That the rumours and horror stories surrounding the institution were just that, and that it might be okay. But as soon as the main gates closed and he was shoved inside the notorious academy, he realised that everything he had heard was true. Perhaps worse.

He had written his parents letters during the first month of his being there. He had poured his sadness and grief into those letters, yet the words he wrote could not express enough at how much pain and sorrow he was suffering from in this vile place. Maybe that's why they didn't seem to care and didn't respond? The tears that fell onto the papers and blurred some of the ink probably dried by the time it reached them and so maybe they just thought he was homesick and that he'd get over it? He knew there were no phones or outside contact available to the students but why didn't his parents ever come and visit or try and get in contact with him? Other parents never came, but he didn't have the type of parents the other boys had. He had conversed in late night conversations during his first couple of weeks at the academy and realised that when the boys spoke with bitter hatred about their parents and the fact that they had sent them there, he didn't feel the same way about his own. His parents loved him. They wanted him to do well. Him being sent here was for his own good, they had told him. After a couple of months had passed without any reply back from his letters, his own bitterness had started to seep through his good nature threatening to consume him entirely and rotten his inner core...

A new kid arrived today. Through the mumbled whispers between his classmates when they were sure nobody was listening, William learned that his name was Kurt Hummel. He caught a glimpse of him when he first arrived. He looked decent and kind and William's heart sank at this. He had been at Dalton long enough now to know that the nice boys always ended up turning nasty and the nasty ones ended up turning nastier. It was a shame, but he felt more sorry for those who started out normal. The ways of Dalton would keep pushing and pushing at them until it had squeezed out every drop of humanity they held and replaced it with an empty shell, a mere shadow of the being they once were. Kurt would no doubt end up like one of them, especially when William learned he had been assigned to Karofsky, the cruellest mentor at Dalton...

"Eyes to the _front_, Crewe!" Beesley, the music teacher, ordered, and William snapped out of his thoughts at once and complied. He audibly gulped; the action was uncontrollable, but his compliance was enough to satisfy Beesley who did not punish him for this and instead nodded to the man sitting down at a piano in the corner of the music room. At his request, the man started to play a beautiful melody and it was enough to nearly bring William to tears. He missed his music so much and being able to get back into it, even as just a brief respite from the horrors of Dalton, were the best moments of his being here. It did not come without a price though, and William suppressed the urge to shudder as the thought of the vocal cool downs entered his mind. Beesley was an old man with thinning grey hair who was very much set in his ways and his way of making sure the boys retained their vocal cords after long singing sessions were repulsive. Still, if it meant that he had to go through that to keep his spot in the Warblers, he supposed it was worth it. Just.

He snatched a look at his fellow Warblers. There were only a few from his own dormitory. Anthony Adams, a tall, lanky guy who barely uttered a word but who when he sang, had one of the most purest, sweetest voices he had ever heard, and Wes Bailey, whose low baritone fitted into the chorus line simply perfectly. There were five others from various other dormitories and he himself made the eighth member. As the piano melody slowed down and then started into a familiar song, William's heart gave a jolt. They had sung this song together before and their harmonies always sounded so beautiful. He was one of two countertenors who could sing in a high pitch so was a match made in heaven with the voice of Terrence Litchfield, a boy from dormitory ten, whose voice was similar to his. They were both singing the lead vocals of the song with the other boys providing the harmonies in the background.

_We used to walk through fields of green_  
><em>We used to sit by clear blue streams<em>  
><em>We used to be so happy, me and you<em>

William concentrated on the singing and focused less on the actual words, for if he did, he would surely break. He hadn't known this song before he joined the Warblers and the connection he felt with the lyrics every time they sang it seemed sometimes too much for him to handle. It reminded him of a time that seemed so long ago when he felt that what he was enduring back then was the worst he could have possibly gone through, though now he knew that was far from the actual truth at all...

_We used to do such silly things_  
><em>We used to make love in the rain<em>  
><em>We used to, yes we used to<em>

William closed his eyes briefly and gathered his emotions in check as the other Warblers joined in with the chorus.

_Then you went away_  
><em>Leaving me with the memories we made<em>  
><em>Memories of those sweet yesterdays<em>  
><em>Spent with you<em>  
><em>Spent with you<em>  
><em>And even though you're gone<em>  
><em>I still think so often of you<em>  
><em>And the things that we no longer do<em>  
><em>Like we used to<em>  
><em>We used<em> -

The door to the music room burst open then and the noise it made when slamming against the wall brought the Warblers to an abrupt halt. Beesley turned to the intruder angrily and his features only softened slightly when presented with Tierney, an ugly rat-faced mentor.

"What do you want, boy?" Beesley snarled. He was one of the few teachers who seemed to hold the mentors with the same disrespect he held for the students.

If he was bothered by Beesley's tone, Tierney didn't show it. "Banks wants Crewe in his headquarters," he drawled. His gaze turned to William and his lip curled upwards into a mean sneer. "Now."

Beesley looked irritated but all the same nodded and then turned to William. "You heard him, Crewe. Go."

There was a deadly, silent atmosphere in the room after William's summoning had been announced, though it wasn't addressed, of course. As was the Dalton way, the students looked straight ahead and pretended nothing had been said and nothing was taking place around them. William's heart sank as he shuffled forwards towards Tierney whose eyes were glinting dangerously as Beesley turned his attention back to the rest of the boys. "Now, from the beginning of the chorus..."

Though Tierney was slightly smaller than William, he grabbed his forearm roughly and yanked him to the door as the dulcet tones filled the room once more.

_Then you went away_...

* * *

><p>He couldn't do this.<p>

He could _not_ do this.

And yet, he was going to. He knew it. He had known it all along. He had already resigned himself to doing it. Had already resigned himself to the self-loathing that was going to swamp him afterwards and the thought made him want to curl up in the foetal position, but it was too late. He had sent for Crewe who was now on his way to his room, if he knew what was good for him.

Banks' head was spinning and his heart was racing at a million miles an hour but the alcohol coursing through his veins was just enough to stop him from jumping out of the window to end it all right there and then. And really, when he thought about it, it was okay, and everything was going to work out okay. Because Crewe was almost a girl, probably should have been born a girl. Just a stray chromosome or some shit had gotten in the way and made him a boy, but that was fine, because Crewe was a _girl_.

* * *

><p>He couldn't go through with this.<p>

He absolutely in no uncertain terms go through with this, and yet, what choice did he have? Banks would kill him if he didn't show. Not that Tierney would have let him blatantly show any sign of disobedience in disregarding Banks' orders.

The journey through the Dalton corridors was a silent one. All the other students were in bed, save for the Warblers, who were granted to stay up later on Fridays, because Beesley had ordered it so. Something about their vocal cords being stronger after hours, whereas William knew that practice took place after hours because of what occurred _after_ the practice. And quite honestly, as disgusting and degrading as it was, he would have rather stayed in the music room with the others and gone through the post-singing ritual than have been summoned to Banks' headquarters. Banks was the cruellest teacher at Dalton and his punishments were legendary. But William hadn't done anything wrong, not that this usually mattered at Dalton, but to be summoned to a teachers private _headquarters_ for no apparent reason was genuinely uncalled for, especially after lights out. Unless the suspicions surrounding Banks were true...

Banks apparently had certain favourites. Certain playthings. Certain boys he liked to keep as his own. All the teachers displayed signs of arousal from punishing the boys in class and some were more blatant than others, but it was unknown (at least to William) that they invited them to their bed. He had a certain churning of despair in the pit of his stomach that he was about to become Banks' newest toy. This didn't bode well, especially as how Banks supposedly got bored of his toys rather quickly and it didn't go unnoticed by the students (but never vocalised, of course) that when his playing seemingly became too out of hand, his toys became battered and broken.

* * *

><p>He was pleading, but knew it was to ultimately no avail. Because no matter how much he pleaded, how much he begged, how much he cried and screamed and prayed that this wasn't going to happen didn't matter. It was going to happen. The stench of stale booze and filthiness was radiating from his stepfathers body in waves and the fury that glowed in his eyes was enough to make his whole body shake with terror. His stepfather was a huge man whose muscles rippled muscle and as he entered the once safe sanctuary of his bedroom and lingered at the doorway, sneering spitefully and staring at a twelve year old Michael Banks like he was a piece of meat, he wanted nothing more than for his life to end at that very moment.<p>

"Faggot." It wasn't a greeting, an insult nor a question, but a statement; a declaration that was stated slurred courtesy of the bottle of vodka he had downed throughout the evening. His mother was out of it downstairs and now he had his stepfathers undivided attention, whether it was wanted or not.

His stepfather blocked the entire doorway, his huge gut spilling out obscenely over the tight buckle of his leather belt holding up his jeans and he knew he had nowhere to run. On instinct, he had gotten out of his bed and backed himself into a corner of his bedroom as soon as he heard the heavy footfall coming up the creaking stairs, but it didn't matter. He was trapped. He had locked himself in the bathroom once before but the animalistic sounds of his stepfather pounding away at the door before he eventually kicked it off the hinges and dragged him out by the hair was enough to deter him from trying that again; it had truly petrified him. He had received the thrashing of his life for that little stunt and it didn't make a difference, because he had still been made to get on his knees and take him into his mouth and the guttural groaning from the larger, older man as he thrust himself into his throat and violated every inch of his being made him literally gag and vomit. He could still taste him in his mouth to this day.

His mother found out. Eventually. And despite the hysteria and the wild, crazy look in his eyes as he relayed what had been taking place as she had passed out in a drunken stupor night after night, she had stood by her man.

His stepfather, perhaps knowing that he was potentially in deep shit, had come up with a solution. There was a place for kids like him, he had sneered. A place that would put him on the straight and narrow, to stop him coming up with these sick lies he was spouting and would rid him of these sick fantasies he so obviously wanted to try. This kid was dangerous, his stepfather had said. Homos were ruining society and sending at least one of them to an institution like Dalton would rid the decent folk of at least one more of them, his stepfather had said. Because if they didn't do this, then that would make _them_ fag enablers

It was how he had found himself being pulled out of his school and transferred to Dalton Academy.

* * *

><p>He was running, but knew it was to ultimately no avail. Because no matter how fast he ran, how cleverly he hid, nor how adeptly he ducked and dodged and just kept running didn't matter. They were going to get him. But the only instinct in William's mind at the moment was to get away.<p>

The delighted cheers and catcalls ringing in his ears courtesy of his tormentors chasing after him was chilling; they seemed genuinely spurned on by the fear that was surely radiating from his body in waves and though this caused him to run faster, it only made them more determined to catch up to him and deliver his punishment for being, in their eyes, a sick faggot.

He continued to run as fast as his legs would carry him. He had chanced staying late after school had ended one day to use a computer for an English project he had to finish. It was a decision he would ultimately come to regret. He had left the school grounds on a cold October evening and had just started to walk the ten minute journey home when he spotted three figures at the end of the street. Even through the darkish sky and the fact that they were quite a way away he knew that the figures were those of his tormentors who had made it their mission to make his life miserable.

As he ran in the opposite direction and could hear the heavy pounding of boots on pavement behind him as they chased after him, he knew he wouldn't get away tonight. And it was confirmed as the rush of stampeding grew closer and closer until he felt a tight grip on the back of his shirt and the next thing he knew, he had been slammed to the floor, his head banging heavily on the kerb, pain reverberating through his skull as he closed his eyes and groaned his pain weakly. He looked up at the trio grinning down at him and saw one of them was holding a rope tied into the shape of a makeshift noose.

"Time to hang a faggot," he heard one snicker. He closed his eyes and prayed.

His parents were in pieces by the time they reached the hospital, having been driven there by two policemen who had showed up on their door after being alerted to the scene of a crime by a concerned neighbour who had seen a figure swinging from a branch of a tree. The rescue had happened just in the nick of time; they had cut down a purple-faced and barely-conscious William. He was shaking; and refused to talk about his ordeal and did not dare to name who had done this to him.

For his own safety, and at his parents best interests, it was how he found himself being pulled out of school and transferred to Dalton Academy.

All this came rushing back to William as he was pushed into Banks' dormitory by Tierney, who then left the two alone. William's eyes widened and his heart gave a lurch as he saw a noose on Banks' bed and Banks breathing heavily, looking at him in a cross of the most disgusted revulsion and sickening lust.

* * *

><p><strong>ONE MONTH LATER.<strong>

William couldn't sleep. He couldn't sleep at Dalton at the best of times, but the whimpered moans coming from Kurt Hummel's bed were haunting and every time one was vocalised from his throat softly, William came closer to getting out of bed to comfort him. Being out of bed after hours was of course an extremely punishable offence, but so distressing were the screams that William almost forgot about that. He just wanted to comfort the boy who was obviously suffering nightmares from the aftermath of his first session with the Ring. He suppressed a shudder at his own experience with the Ring. He remembered it all too well and would not wish that on his worst enemy.

Kurt cried out again and this time, William sat up and swung his legs out of bed with the intention of going over to Kurt's bed to calm him down. It was at that moment, however, that Kurt too sat bolt upright in bed, screaming out loud and panting heavily, having obviously woken himself up and freeing himself from the horrors of whatever nightmares he had been having. At the same time, heavy footsteps that William recognised as belonging to Banks came closer and closer to the dormitory and William threw himself back down in bed quickly and willed Kurt do the same. The door was flung open and William could feel Banks' presence in the dormitory without even laying eyes on him.

"What, may I ask, did I just hear?"

William kept silent, hoping, though knowing it was fruitless, that Banks would think that they were all asleep and maybe the disturbance had come from another dormitory. But Banks stayed there and asked again, "I'm going to ask one more time, what did I just hear?"

William's mind flashed back to when Banks had summoned him to his bedroom and had proceeded to beat the living daylights out of him before tying the noose around his neck and threatening to string him up from the rafters if he didn't do exactly as he said. William had been petrified and had done whatever Banks asked without hesitation. He could still taste him in his mouth to this day.

And when Banks had finally let him go after his release, he had said: "_You fuck with me and I'll fucking string you up for real, faggot. You might be one of the few who get out of here. Would be a shame of you to fuck it up for yourself, eh kid? Might get the chance to see your parents again, though, obviously not if I'm gonna have to finish off what those high school bullies of yours started, huh_?"

He didn't know whether Banks was telling the truth or not. He didn't know anything anymore. But either way, the reminder had stayed with him for a very long time, and did its intention well of keeping him in check. So maybe subconsciously, trying to stay in line, to perhaps get the chance to get out of here and be back with his parents once more, the words came tumbling out of his mouth. "Sir, Hummel was yelling out in his sleep."

He hadn't said it maliciously, nor to try and get Kurt in trouble at all, it had been purely an instantly regrettable moment of desperation, a chance to be back with his family, but as soon as the words had been spoken, William wished he could take them back. Especially when Banks marched over to Kurt's bed and pulled the covers from his bed, exposing a vulnerable Kurt. He had delivered a bare-ass spanking to Kurt in front of the rest of the boys and had made William count each one, which he did, in a shaking voice. After Banks had left, and the dormitory fell silent again, William could feel the hostility towards him lingering in the air, though it wasn't until the next morning he was subject to his dorm-mates obvious disgust towards him. He wanted to explain, but nobody gave him the chance to do so. It was as though that single act of what they thought had been unnecessary backstabbing had completely alienated him from the 'Them Versus Us' unspoken policy.

Things had gotten even worse once Joseph Maloney arrived a couple of days later. If William had apparently backstabbed Kurt then what Joseph ended up doing to him was off the charts. And when Kurt and Blaine had heatedly confronted Joseph about it in the dormitory after Kurt had returned from being punished by the principal, William's heart began to race all over again at the thought of Banks catching them out of bed after hours.

"You're sick," Blaine snapped.

"Aw, did I hit a nerve?" Joseph replied mockingly.

"You _are_ sick," said Kurt. "It's bad enough that the teachers and the mentors put us down, but the one thing we can't do is turn on each other."

"Guys..." William had warned, softly, as the confrontation had gotten more out of hand. The voices became louder and the boys had apparently forgotten where they were, and what time it was. He was trying to warn them to stop, before...

And then Banks had come in, demanding to know what had happened.

"CREWE!"

"Sir?"

"What's going on in here, Crewe?"

William hesitated, only for a split second, but in that split second he saw the dangerous glint in Banks' eyes, the way his features tightened ever so slightly as a forewarning of the ongoing reminder he had sent William packing with, that night when he had finally had enough of him.

"Sir, Hummel came back from the principals office and started arguing with Maloney."

"And what was the argument about, Crewe?" Banks had a cocksure smirk on his lips and his tone was mocking, as he stared William down, knowing that he exerted complete control. It should have made him hate him more, and it did, but William detested that it also made him more scared of Banks. Since he had entered the dormitory, all thoughts and memories over the altercation between Kurt and Joseph flew from his mind; the only thing he was feeling right now was fear. Just fear of Banks.

"Sir, Hummel got sent to the principals office by Karofsky about an hour ago and he thinks it was down to Maloney. Hummel came back and started shouting at Joseph and then Anderson joined in too and they ganged up on him." Was that what had actually happened? He couldn't remember. The words he was saying were just as much of a blur as what had just occurred.

Banks ordered them to go back to bed after that, but not before announcing a boxing match between Kurt and Joseph in tomorrows Gym class. The thought made William's heart sink. Joseph was taller and seemed much tougher than Kurt. He probably wouldn't stand a chance. He fervently hoped that he would though. Even though Kurt had glowered at him after Banks departure before he lay down in bed - an obvious sign that the garbled, robotic words from William's mouth were _not_ something Kurt wanted to hear - he still thought of him in a higher regard than Joseph, who William had only known him for a couple of days yet already despised him. If Kurt got fucked up by Joseph, or worse still, Banks just let the fight carry on until the unthinkable happened (and William knew Banks could, and would, make one beat the other into a coma), then it would be all his fault for opening his mouth.

"I'm going to beat the shit out of you, Kurt. I'm going to fuck you up so bad, you'd think I was a mentor." Joseph taunted.

Kurt didn't answer and nothing more was said for the rest of the night, least of all by William, who spent it with his body buried under the covers, hot tears running down his cheeks as he silently hated Joseph, hated Dalton, hated Banks and most importantly, himself.

* * *

><p><strong>In reference to the authors notes at the beginning, when I said the story doesn't move forward I meant in the sense that after this chapter we're still at the same place we left off at last chapter. Sorry to those who were hopingexpecting the Gym fight in this chapter. It happens in the next one, I promise!**

**I'm not a musical person, so if I made any errors in regards to the terms used in the Warblers scene, I apologise. The Warblers will be featured again in future chapters and they might need a new member, seeing as Wes has not yet returned from the principal's office... The song and lyrics from that scene is **_We used to_** by **_Dolly Parton._

**Again, thank you so much for reviewing and I will get my arse into gear and hopefully the next wait won't be as long.**

**All the best,**

**Johnny :)**


	9. Gym Class

**Hey :)**

**It always seems to take me ages to get these chapters up. I can be staring at all my notes for days on end and not come up with anything new and then one day I'll sit at my computer and it will all come pouring out of nowhere. **

**Anyway.**

**Here's Chapter Nine. Hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

><p>"...Truly wrong. Not just to protect the sanctity of marriage, but to also keep the message clear: That homosexuality is despicable and not a lifestyle choice that should be glorified, or rewarded..."<p>

Blaine was reading from his English paper robotically, occasionally stumbling and stuttering over the words, a clear sign to Kurt that he absolutely in no uncertain terms did not agree with the words he was saying. It didn't matter though; Bronson, the English teacher, was smiling in the manner of a proud parent and, even more disgustingly, Joseph was nodding his head thoughtfully, fully absorbing Blaine's words like he truly believed in them. Kurt's hands involuntarily balled into fists at the sight and he had to restrain himself and unclench them. If he got caught acting aggressively by Bronson, he might not get the chance to get to Gym today.

And boy, did Kurt want to get to Gym today. He _needed_ to. Never a former fan of confrontation, and someone who would always use cutting words rather than his fists, he now had a complete change of heart about fighting and violence, especially towards the boy in question. Joseph had to pay. And _he_ had to be the one to make him. He was not scared going into this fight and the thought of him losing didn't cross his mind for even a flicker of a second. Dalton had somewhat successfully managed to grind him down, but the fire in his soul was not extinguished just yet. If anything, now that he had a chance to beat the shit out of Joseph, it had been re-ignited, and he felt more energised than ever. If it took a little acting to make that happen, then so be it, although it was with much reluctance that Kurt now too started to nod along with Blaine's words and looked like he was agreeing with Blaine.

"...Since the ban on homosexual sex was lifted, the increase on AIDS and other gay-related illnesses have been staggering. Acts of paedophilia has risen by forty-three percent and the number of people identifying themselves as homosexual has risen by twenty-two percent. These figures indicate that if homosexual marriage was to be legalised, then in ten years time, we would see seventy percent of people in the United States infected with AIDS and fifty-one percent of individuals identifying themselves as homosexual. This also means that in ten years time, going by these figures, one in three children under the age of ten will be the victim of a molestation or rape from a homosexual and will most likely end up homosexual themselves..."

What the FUCK was Blaine talking about? Though Kurt obviously didn't blame him in any way - they were all forced to do these reports and had all been instructed to include the statistics that Bronson had given them, no matter how inaccurate the Dalton boys personally thought they were. Bronson may as well have plucked random percentages from a hat, which Kurt reckoned he might have done, though Bronson told them that the figures had been obtained from a reliable source. The teachers often referred to 'reliable sources' when giving lessons on certain subjects they felt they could be challenged on. Kurt didn't see the point - it wasn't like any of them were brave (or stupid) enough to stand up in class and demand to know exactly where these facts were from in fear of getting punished. The reliable source was most likely Principal Lowry, ordering the teachers to push forward his outdated and made up propaganda onto the students.

"...In conclusion, there should be no doubt in anybody's minds that legalising gay marriage is not only wrong, but a clear threat to the good and clean living society. Legalising gay marriage will bring down civilisation."

Blaine shuffled his feet in awkward shame as Bronson, Joseph and a few others clapped enthusiastically while the rest followed in their trail half-heartedly. Kurt didn't want to applaud Blaine's speech at all, though he did so all the same. Anything to get his hands on Joseph…

* * *

><p>Kurt's eyes remained on the back of Blaine's head. They were standing in line in the corridor waiting to go into the Dining Hall for lunch. Dormitory Eleven were heading in in single file, watched by their mentor, Jason Tierney who was standing at the entrance to the hall. When the last boy had gone in, Tierney followed directly after him and then Sayeed Kahn, the mentor for Dormitory Twelve, took his place at the entrance and then instructed his own dormitory to follow suit. Everything at Dalton was done in military precision. Kurt was watching this all too familiar routine with full concentration - anything to keep himself from reacting to the taunting behind him.<p>

"Humm-el's gonna ge-et it. Humm-el's gonna ge-et it."

It was barely louder than a whisper, but the sing-song voice was getting under Kurt's skin to the point that he wanted nothing more than to turn around and start a fight with Joseph right there and then. But he couldn't. He'd get his chance. He just had to play it cool and not react and he would get his chance.

"I'm going to kill you, Kurt," Joseph whispered hoarsely. "No holds barred. I am going to fucking _kill_ you."

He would not react.

"My fists are going to be fucking _dripping_ in your blood."

Kurt concentrated on the curls on the back of Blaine's head. Karofsky had taken Kahn's place now and was motioning Dormitory Thirteen, headed by William Crewe, to enter the hall.

"I'm going to stomp on your head until your skull caves in, Hummel. Your family won't even recognise you when they come to collect your body. If they _bother_ to collect -"

At that precise moment, Kurt almost lost all inhibitions and was just about to spin around and confront Joseph, but something rushed past him and the blurred figure of Karofsky was at their side in an instant, shoulders squared back, rage on his face and his nostrils flaring dangerously. For once, it was not directed at Kurt; Karofsky drew himself up to full height and used his broad chest to knock Joseph slightly out of line. Karofsky stared down at him threateningly and it was with a twinge of satisfaction that from the corner of his eye, Kurt saw a look of utmost dread on Joseph's face at incurring the wrath of their Mentor.

"You got somethin' to say, Maloney?" Karofsky snarled. Kurt stopped himself from snickering as he heard Joseph audibly gulp.

"N-no... sir," Joseph stammered. Ugh, what a creep Joseph was; sucking up to Karofsky by calling him 'sir.' He sounded just like William. William had stopped at the entrance since Karofsky had moved from his position at the door, and was now unsure of what he was supposed to do. Kurt shot him a dark look when their eyes made contact and was pleased to see William look down at his feet in shame.

"So I'm hearing things then, Maloney?" Karofsky continued to press. "I'm going crazy, obviously. Is that what you're telling me, huh? That you didn't say anything?"

"Yes sir, I-I mean no sir," Joseph faltered desperately. "I-I mean yes, I did say something, sir."

"So what did you say, fucker?" Karofsky never let things go. He pushed and he pushed until he got an answer. And even sometimes then, he would continue to push until he got the answer he wanted to hear.

"I - I was just telling Hummel I was going to make him pay in Gym class today... Banks has arranged for us to fight," Joseph admitted nervously. His eyes were fixated onto the floor, not daring to meet the disgusted gaze of Karofsky. Though Kurt was praying beyond belief that Karofsky wouldn't haul Joseph out of line right there and then, thus taking his chance away at destroying him after lunch was over, he still felt like celebrating at the sight of Joseph cowering away under the pressure of Karofsky.

The burly Mentor appraised Joseph for a moment, before the look of disgust slowly started to fade. He glanced at Kurt, his lips slowly forming into a smirk before he looked back to Joseph. A surge of anger rushed through Kurt's body as the realisation hit him, but he did not react and instead did his best to swallow it down. But it was unfair. The anger disappearing from Karofsky after Joseph had told him what he had said was an obvious signal to Kurt that Karofsky approved of this and would no doubt be willing to let Joseph off the hook for talking without permission - which was usually punishable by anything from being swatted on the bare ass with a cane to being beaten to within an inch of your life. Evidently, it seemed that Karofsky would be willing to forgo both of these punishments and any punishments in between, after having learned the topic of conversation from Joseph.

Karofsky dismissed them both with a single nod of approval toward Joseph before he made his way back to his position at the door and backhanded William right across the face, angrily telling him to get inside and berating him for 'just standing there like some stupid sonofabitch cocksucking faggot.'

The rules of Dalton, Kurt mused to himself, had to be obeyed at all times, but only except when they didn't.

As if this place couldn't get any worse. But it was all part of Dalton. The hostility he felt towards Joseph was not just down to circumstances or clashes of personality and it wasn't just down to the fact that Joseph was a sneaky, two-faced bastard either. All these hostilities, all of this general uneasiness and not knowing what was coming round the corner, all of these injustices and regular and irregular punishments were all carefully orchestrated to keep Dalton remained as a highly toxic environment to live in. Not only was there resentment towards the establishment; the teachers and the mentors, but also resentment within the students themselves. Some were relentlessly beat down while others had a blind eye turned and when this was coming from the same member of staff for the same rule break, it was inevitable to cause some friction within the students. Late night dormitory brawling was not uncommon at Dalton. The injuries were hardly ever looked into though.

* * *

><p>Kurt changed into his Gym clothes (a Dalton-approved tracksuit with plain black Dalton-approved sneakers) quickly and efficiently. There was nothing different nor additional he had to wear for this fight. He certainly didn't have to worry about any protective headgear, mouth guards, or boxing gloves or anything like that. Banks was old school. When he said boxing, he meant bare knuckle style boxing, and probably wouldn't allow the fight to stop until one of them was lying in a pool of their own blood, literally bleeding to death.<p>

After he had changed (he was one of the first to do so, and was even finished before he had chance to feel uncomfortable that Banks was staring at them in unconcealed lust, licking his lips at the sight of the naked, teenage flesh) he had made his way into the Gym and walked over to wall furthest opposite to the entrance. The Gym was a decent sized space; it had a rather high ceiling and the walls were painted a pristine white, though the paint was chipping away for the most part - the result of boys bodies being slammed up against walls ruthlessly by teachers and mentors alike. Unlike usually though, the Gym today was devoid of any type of equipment in there and as Kurt walked over to the wall, the footfall of his steps reverberated around the room.

He reached the wall and was now leaning his back against it, arms by his sides and eyes locked onto the door. The students were coming in in drips and drabs, some alone, some in small groups, though none of them were talking, of course. When Blaine entered, he made his way nervously to Kurt, who caught the millions of questions that he wasn't allowed to ask in Blaine's eyes. He was so close to getting his hands on Joseph, he didn't want to lose this opportunity now, so he didn't even give Blaine a small smile, or nod of encouragement. He'd let him know afterwards that he had been fine all along.

William had entered and was looking at Kurt in pure fear. Kurt wasn't sure whether William was scared for him or _of_ him but he didn't particularly care either way. And if he managed to give William a sly punch to the gut when nobody was looking, well, all the better...

More students continued to file in and Kurt locked eyes on each one of them, dismissing them when he saw that they were not the target he was after. Banks entered next, who stared at him with what looked like confused interest, blatantly looking him up and down, his head cocked slightly to one side as though seeing something for the first time. And then, the last to enter, flanked by his two smaller henchmen Ralph Smith and Scott Cunningham, was Joseph. And upon taking Kurt in and obviously realising that he was absolutely _ready_ for this fight, the seemingly permanent smirk on his face and the cocky swag in the way that he walked all but evaporated before Kurt's very eyes. It seemed that Joseph had finally realised that Kurt was not a person to fuck with.

Banks looked like he was about to wet himself with glee as he shut the door behind the trio and forcefully propelled Joseph near the centre of the room.

"I know you were all expecting dodgeball today," Banks announced to the class importantly, his gravely voice echoing off the walls, "But we experienced a slight... shall we say, technical hitch. Normal service is expected to resume as normal." He glared around the class to indicate that what he just said was meant to be a joke and so they laughed, feebly and obligingly. It wasn't really funny though; the prospect of dodgeball being resumed next week was not a prospect to look forward to. In the Dalton version of dodgeball, they used golf balls and instead of throwing them, they used slingshots. Two guys were rumoured to have each lost an eye from the 'sport'.

Banks motioned to Kurt and Kurt pushed himself from the wall and made his way over to the centre of the room where the rest of the class were congregating, with Blaine following in his path. He noticed that Joseph was beginning to sweat and looked _very_ nervous indeed. Good. He even stepped back a bit slightly when Kurt made his way over to him and stood face to face, just inches apart, never breaking eye contact with him. The coward looked away first, craning his neck up to Banks, no doubt hoping that for whatever crazy reason, the teacher would call the whole thing off.

But Banks was having none of it. Instructing the class to spread out and make a large circle, he held one of the shoulders of each boy at arms length, securing them in place as the circle was formed around them.

"You'll fight until the other one's unconscious or until I tell you to stop, you understand?" Banks roared. Kurt nodded, though he wasn't looking at him, he was looking straight at Joseph. Joseph looked like he was about to have a panic attack.

Banks nodded once more, let them both go, and integrated himself into the circle for a ring side seat. "Go!" he instructed.

For a moment, both boys just stood there, fists up defensively, waiting for the other to make a move. Kurt moved forward slightly, only for Joseph to move back slightly further. Kurt moved forward again, more of a lunge this time, hoping he would enclose him against the wall of the other boys behind him, but Joseph side stepped at the last moment, drew back his foot, and kicked Kurt roughly in the side of the ribs before the smaller boy could bring down his arms to defend himself. The sound of Joseph's sneaker against Kurt's ribs was made to sound worse than it was as it bounced off the walls echoingly, but Kurt barely registered the pain and only winced slightly, before straightening up for another go. Joseph was skipping very lightly from foot to foot, energised by the general adrenalin of being in a fight, but also doing it because he now had some of his old cocky confidence back after having got the first hit in. Joseph tried to kick at Kurt again, in the same spot as before, but Kurt grabbed a hold of Joseph's ankle and before Joseph even had time to react, used the forceful grip he had on it to forcefully pull Joseph's wobbling stature forward towards him, followed with a solid punch to Joseph's jaw, causing the taller boy to stagger backwards straight onto his ass.

He didn't even give Joseph time to get up, let alone recover, before he was on him like a shot, standing over him, raining down punch after punch to Joseph's skull. It was so silent you could have heard a pin drop. Not that Kurt was a regular at fights, but the few he had been witness to involved a lot of shouting, and a lot of encouragement, hell, sometimes even terrorised screams alongside sickening laughs, but he had never actually seen a fight where everyone was deathly quiet, let alone be involved in one.

With no noise coming from the boys or Banks, the sound of knuckle connecting with flesh was echoing around the room and made the sound of every punch more obscene than the last. Joseph, for the moment, had given up on trying to fight back and was now curled in on himself, using his arms to protect his face and head from Kurt's fast and vicious punches. Kurt stopped punching him and grabbed at one of his forearms, intending to pull it away to stop him from using it as a shield and strike him properly in the face. He succeeded in pulling his arm out of the way and was satisfied to see his right eye already looking red but quick as a shot, Joseph had reached his free arm up and grabbed a tight fistful of Kurt's hair. Joseph started yanking, trying to pull him to the floor as Kurt was hunched over, kicking Joseph in his ribs to try to make him let go. Kurt lost the grip he had on Joseph's arm and Joseph quickly took the opportunity and grabbed his hair with the other hand as well, yanking it so hard that Kurt was forced to his knees.

Joseph scrambled up from underneath him. Kurt didn't even have time to see the sole of Joseph's sneaker coming towards his face, but it did so, and did it with a sickening crack he vaguely thought might have been the bones in his nose breaking. The action sent Kurt sprawling onto his back, his head spinning with dizziness. Kurt registered that his nose felt very hot before he actually registered the pain. As soon as it registered, an overwhelming wave of nausea washed over him and he thought he was going to be sick, especially when he started to feel the warm trickle of blood seeping from his nostrils. He then let out a cry of pain as Joseph stomped him hard directly on the gut not once, not twice, but three times. It had taken the breath completely out of him but there was still enough primal instinct inside of him to not give up yet. Joseph had raised his leg up again but before he could stamp it down on his stomach again, Kurt's arm shot up and he drove a fist straight into the crotch of Joseph. Joseph reacted instantly; backing away like a wounded animal, legs squeezed together and hands over his balls protectively, his face contorted in what would have been a comical expression if the circumstances were different.

Kurt rolled onto his front on all fours and managed to stand up, though his stomach was killing him from Joseph stomping him into the ground and his bloodied nose was now so bad, he could taste his blood on his lips. He staggered over to Joseph and attempted to deliver a punch to his face, but Joseph blocked it with one arm and immediately followed it up with a punch to Kurt's face with the other. It connected, hard, with Kurt's jaw, and it made his head snap sideways at the impact. He didn't have time to turn around before Joseph repeated the action, in exactly the same spot. The second punch got him off balance and Joseph shoulder tackled him and wrestled them both to the floor. Kurt fell to the floor on his back, bearing the full weight of Joseph on top of him. The back of his skull hit the cold floor and he saw stars for a moment. The weight on his stomach shifted; Joseph was now straddling him, effectively trapping him by kneeling on his shoulders. He smirked that infuriating cocky smirk of his and, almost calmly, grabbed a fistful of Kurt's hair and used it to wrench his head off the floor before he slammed it back down again.

Involuntarily, Kurt let out a groan. His eyes were shut, trying to block out the pain and from somewhere above him, he heard Joseph laugh. He forced his eyes open and saw Joseph grinning to their circle of spectators, before he jumped up quick as a flash, stepped to one side of him, drew back his leg and casually kicked Kurt's head as if it was a soccer ball. Kurt blacked out for a moment when Joseph's sneaker made impact. He was sure it was only for a split second, but everything felt like it was happening in slow motion for a moment. He spotted Blaine out of the corner of his eye, eyes widened and mouth slightly parted in shock. He saw William, face screwed up and wincing, probably at the state of Kurt's face. He saw Banks, glaring down at them with his arms folded over his huge chest, smiling evilly at the carnage going on in front of him. The others were all looking very uncomfortable at having to have anything to do with this, with the exception of Ralph and Scott, who looked pleased for their friend.

"Get up."

For a second Kurt thought that it was someone willing him to do it to beat Joseph, but then realised it was Joseph himself that said it. Kurt felt himself being forcefully sat up; Joseph had a grip on the front of Kurt's tracksuit jacket and he stared woozily into Joseph's eyes before the other boy sent him sprawling onto his back again with another swinging punch to the side of his face. Kurt coughed out blood onto the floor. His whole body felt like it was in pain and yet he couldn't give up the fight yet. Especially as Joseph was acting so cocky now, playing up to the crowd after he had managed to force Kurt into this vulnerable position. It made Kurt sick to see him looking up to Banks for approval and a rush of anger coursed through the entire length of his body. As Joseph grabbed at the front of his tracksuit with one hand, getting ready to punch him in the face again with the other, Kurt leaned forward and sank his teeth into Joseph's arm in a vice like grip. This emitted a howl of pain from the taller boy, who immediately tried to yank his arm away but this only served to cause more pain to himself because Kurt had clamped on and was refusing to let go. Joseph started to strike him in the face causing Kurt to eventually release his grip and Joseph got his arm out of the way in a shot, nursing it towards his chest. Kurt seized the opportunity and managed to get to his feet. Joseph was standing too, teeth gritted in anger and looking at Kurt like he was going to kill him. Joseph kicked out but Kurt dodged out of the way and kicked him instead, managing to catch him on his thigh. Joseph attempted a punch but again, Kurt managed to avoid it and punched him straight him in the face. Joseph let out an angry hiss of pain and ran at Kurt like a madman, but as he reached him, Kurt grabbed his shoulders and used the grip to spin Joseph around and forcefully throw him to the floor.

Now he had him right where he wanted him. Kurt stood over Joseph, drew his leg back and booted him right in the ribs, a smirk appearing on his own face as he saw the pained expression on Joseph's face. He repeated this action twice more, his smirk becoming more evident after each time Joseph let out a groan of discomfort. He half-rolled, half-kicked Joseph onto his back and then sat on top of him, keeping Joseph's arms out of the way by pinning them to his sides and then straddling him so he couldn't move them from under his weight. From there, he proceeded to punch Joseph repeatedly in the face with both hands, one after the other. Each time his fists hit, Joseph's head was forcefully knocked from side to side thanks to the impact of Kurt's punches. Although it was painful, Kurt relished the dull ache he felt in his fists from being sore and worn out from punching him so hard. His fists had blood on them and so did Joseph's face and he wasn't sure where it was coming from and didn't care, as he just repeatedly pounded on him. Joseph had given up fighting and wasn't even attempting to shift Kurt off of him; he _couldn't_, he was just too dazed. Kurt had stopped punching him in a frenzied state and was now drawing his fists back fully to strike him with a full impact each time.

After one punch where he was sure he felt one of Joseph's teeth dislodge against his knuckles, he was vaguely aware of shouting behind him. He didn't stop though; he was completely in his zone, and continued to beat him in the face. Joseph's eyes were no longer open and if the idea that he may have knocked him unconscious flitted through Kurt's mind, then he certainly didn't care about that small fact as he delivered punch after punch. He thought he felt someone grabbing the back of his shirt but didn't break his concentration and continued to punch Joseph in the face with both fists, right, left, right, left, methodically and rhythmically. As he drew his right arm back to hit him again, a strong grip held it back preventing him from doing so. So Kurt started to smash just his left fist into Joseph's face. His punches were not as strong with this hand so he delivered each blow quickly, trying to cause as much damage as possible. After a few hits, he found his left arm being restrained in the same manner before he was hauled off of Joseph, backwards, into a sitting position on the floor. Kurt was squirming and he tried to break free so he could beat on Joseph some more, but the grip holding him in place was too strong.

Joseph was on the ground, completely still, completely bloodied up and completely unconscious. Ralph and Scott had broken the circle and were crouched over him looking worried. Banks was stood near them, one eyebrow slightly raised in an amused expression. Kurt glanced behind him and realised he was being restrained by Blaine and Anthony. He composed himself and instantly relaxed in their arms.

He had done it. He glanced towards Joseph again. The Gym was still deathly quiet and yet at the same time, everything seemed loud. The quiet murmurs of 'Doctor Lawrence' from Scott seemed to echo around the room and as Kurt stared at the unconscious figure of Joseph, he knew he should have felt somewhat bad (because despite everything he had been through at Dalton, he was still Kurt Hummel) but he didn't. And that unsettled him.

All the same, as Blaine patted his shoulder comfortingly and muttered into his ear that 'he'd won', he saw Scott run out of the Gym to fetch the Dalton doctor, while Ralph kneeled next to Joseph, attempting to wake him up and at that moment Kurt didn't feel like a winner in the slightest. He was turning into something he was not, and he didn't like it. And yet, if he didn't adapt, how the hell could he be expected to survive this place?

"Nice job, Hummel," Banks said, breaking into his thoughts. Kurt glanced up at him and saw Banks was sneering. "Never thought you had it in you."

Kurt swallowed hard and looked away guiltily. He suddenly didn't feel so positive about what had taken place anymore. He glanced at his hands before shutting his eyes, trying to block out the fact that they were covered in blood, just like they'd been on _that_ particular day, the day which had led to his being transferred here...

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><p><strong>A very abrupt ending, so I apologise. The teasing won't go on forever - the full explanation as to Kurt's transfer (and how his mom died) will be revealed, but I'm not sure when. <strong>

**Thank you so much to everybody that reviewed! Those who left a signed review should have recieved their reply by now! And to those that didn't, my responses below:**

**anonymous: **Yes, this story has been moving along quite slowly. Which is quite strange seeing as the entire timeline of this story from chapter one to nine has not been that long. I find it strange myself to write it, so I hope it doesn't seem horribly dragged out and boring for the readers. But there has been some slight revenge for Kurt in this chapter so I hope this has pleased you, and there will be definitely more retribution to come. Thanks for the review!

**Loveena: **I love you! You always have such nice things to say =] I'm glad the last chapter's perspective opened up your eyes (and other readers, going by the reviews) to William and Banks. I was quite surprised though that you and others felt even more hatred towards Banks. I don't think he has been even slightly redeemed, but his background story made him a little more sympathetic in my eyes, though that just might be me! And yeah, poor William :( Also, I won't say definitely not, but right now, I have no plans to write a chapter from Joseph's POV. Thanks for the review! :)

**SO. Wes hasn't been seen since Chapter Seven, when he and Kurt were summoned to the principal's office after getting caught out of bed after hours by Karofsky. Kurt endured his punishment and has come back, but what of Wes? Hmm...**

**In the last chapter we saw the brief introduction of the Warblers through William's eyes. And although it may or may not happen in the next chapter, they WILL be making a reappearance. But is this good or bad news for Kurt?**

**The Ring (from Chapter One) and the man operating it (Dr. Lawrence) will also be making a reappearance. All I can say is ouch.**

**I'll try and update soon! And again, thanks for all the reviews and the love and I really hope you enjoyed this chapter and namely, the fight xxx**

**Until next time**

**Johnny :)**


	10. Reminiscing

The evening after the fight in Gym had taken place was a subdued one in Dormitory Thirteen. Though this was in part due to the absence of two of its inhabitants - Wes and Joseph - it was mainly because of the reason why the latter absentee was not there. Joseph had taken a major beating at the hands of Kurt and after having been half escorted/half dragged to the hospital wing at Dalton, he had not been seen by anybody. And so the general atmosphere in the dorm was very sombre that evening; even Karofsky had laid off somewhat; instructing the boys in a low voice to get changed and go straight to bed, only snapping once at Blaine who apparently did not comply with his orders fast enough for Karofsky's liking. Even when Karofsky shut the lights out and slammed the door behind him, leaving the dormitory in a pit of darkness, the usual murmuring and whispers between the boys did not occur.

Kurt felt sickened with the whole events that had taken place and was in a severe state of confusion. Adrenalin was still coursing through his veins and his heart had not stopped drumming against his rib cage savagely since the fight had ended, but even so, he felt completely wiped out and empty, as though he was detached from his body and emotions. All he kept seeing every time he closed his eyes was Banks nodding his approval at him with that twisted smirk on his face, as though Kurt had made him _proud_. He supposed he had done, though of course kicking the shit out of Joseph had not been for Banks' benefit. It was simply a fight or flight situation: If he hadn't have beaten Joseph then Joseph would have beaten him.

He didn't remember falling to sleep, but he must have done, because he awoke suddenly with a start - sweat-soaked bed sheets twisted in his pyjama bottoms, an obvious sign that he had been tossing and turning through his nightmare. It was a bit hazy, but the fact that Banks' smirking face was imprinted in the forefront of his mind indicated that he had been involved in it somehow. The moon shining through a small window showed that morning was not yet upon them, but Kurt knew he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep for a while. He winced as he sat up in bed; his head was pounding like crazy after the kicks Joseph had delivered to it and for one horrible moment he thought he was going to be sick right there and then. He untangled his legs from his bed sheets and then padded as quietly as he could over to the small wooden door at the back of the dormitory that led to the bathroom. He pushed it open slowly, gritting his teeth at the usual loud creaking noise it made that always sounded so loud in the dead still of the night, before letting it shut behind him.

He fumbled for the cord in the darkness, before finding and pulling down on it. At once, the bathroom was flooded with an obscene fluorescent light that had him blinking his eyes rapidly for a few moments at the harsh change of scenery, before he finally got used to it. He didn't need to go to the toilet, nor did he want a drink of water (the water provided to the Dalton dormitory bathrooms was not exactly sanitary) but he just needed to get away from the others for a while. Though the dorm had been completely silent with the sound of evident sleep, the silence just seemed so loud that it caused Kurt's ears to ring. His thoughts were buzzing around his head constantly and so he turned the cold water tap as a distraction and washed his hands for what seemed like the hundredth time since the fight between him and Joseph. It didn't make a difference though. His hands still felt unclean and grimy with blood.

Kurt hated blood. It reminded him of the day his mother died and how it was all his fault and the reason why he had been sent to Dalton. He felt hot tears begin to well up in his eyes and he blinked them away angrily. Dalton was enough of a head fuck at the best of times but even worse was when severe depression was introduced to the mix. And the worst thing was that the energies at Dalton seemed contagious: one boy moping around almost always set off a chain reaction so by the end of the day, the entire dormitory felt lost and defeated.

But alone, Kurt didn't have to worry about dragging his dorm-mates moods down with his own and fully allowed himself to wallow in his own sadness and self-pity. Though his own recollection of the events leading up to the death were not accurate (and a small part of him actually knew this) he constantly tortured himself with his own version of what happened. For instance: He often thought back to the final conversation he had ever had with his mother when he shouted angrily at her for reading his diary, even though he had sort of wanted her to discover it in the hope that the bullying at school would stop. This was not the case at all, as that had taken place a month or so before her death, but being able to punish himself further by imagining the way the twisted tale played out was the truth served his masochistic need.

That final conversation when he had shouted at her always played in his mind. The crestfallen look on her face. The way Kurt was sure that he would never speak a single word to her again. The way he ignored her the next morning only to see her face that fateful afternoon as he tried to escape... Kurt was sure that he had gotten the final events correct as he remembered them so vividly and the colours in his memory were so bright.

_He was walking to the gates that lay at the front of McKinley to go home when he spotted three figures ahead, lingering by the exit, obviously waiting for someone. Him._

_The three guys weren't anyone special. They were just three bullies who hated him and who would have certainly been replaced by another three had they happened to not have a problem with him. But it seemed at least _someone_ always had a problem with him. And in their case, it was the fact that he was gay, that he was a fag, that he looked and sounded like a girl, probably _was_ a girl, a flamer, a queer, cocksucker, sissy, homo and any and every other offensive name they could come up with using their combined IQ's that couldn't have scraped much higher than twenty-five. These three had been bothering him for a while now, probably because the main instigators before them had since graduated and had somewhat matured (one of his previous tormentors had actually muttered an apology to Kurt about six months ago) and took great delight in making his life a living hell._

_Kurt swallowed hard. Because he _knew_ they would get him. He could tell that much from where he was standing even though the three bulky figures standing with their arms crossed and their faces twisted into menacing smirks were all the way by the school gates. He could run for it, but it wouldn't do any good. They were faster than he was, but if he played his cards right, he could have run back into school and weaved and dodged down various corridors before finding a safe shelter for a while. Ultimately though, it wouldn't have mattered. They'd just make him pay doubly the next time._

_He tightened the grip on his satchel that was hanging from his shoulder and had taken a deep breath. He would _not_ be beaten, he would _not_ be destroyed. He slowly continued on his path, the three bullies looming ever closer. They were watching him intensely and he felt like prey willingly approaching a mighty predator. They made no attempt to move and so it was he who was actually putting himself in danger by encroaching into their 'territory'. After all, should anyone have asked; they hadn't approached Hummel. Hummel had approached them._

_He started to get hot and prayed that he didn't start visibly sweating. Although Winter was finally beginning to disappear for another year, it was still quite cold on that day when Kurt had dressed for school in the outfit that he had planned the previous night. He thought it rather modest, personally. A grey three-quarter length military jacket with diagonal buttons and intricate seam detailing on the breast pockets, teamed with some dark skinny jeans and oversized boots. Not exactly fitting in with what the other guys at school wore, but it wasn't one of his more feminine or outrageous looks. Toning it down, however, didn't help matters at all. If joining the football team and scoring the final goal that led them to victory didn't get them off his back, then changing his fashion style ever so slightly certainly wouldn't._

_He got ever closer and he could start to feel them shifting from foot to foot restlessly now. Agitated? Or excited perhaps. He was sure that they could sense the fear emitting from his body in waves. Perhaps they could smell it. Either way, this had only forced him to hold his head higher and to make his steps toward them seem more confident. He knew it would probably irritate them more, but it was an automatic response for him. He would _not_ lower his gaze to the floor and shuffle past meekly in the hope that they wouldn't notice him and leave him alone. This was who he was and if it meant he got beat up to within an inch of his life every day because others didn't like it, then so be it. He wasn't going to change. He wasn't going to change for anyone, especially guys like _them_. He had thought about making sure he was with someone at all times during school hours, but he quickly brushed that notion away. If he did that, then he'd have to have someone by his side for the rest of his life, because there would always be someone out there who disagreed with who he was. No, this was something he had to deal with himself. And deal with it he would._

_But even so, as Kurt had walked forward ever closer to the trio that lay in wait for him, he felt like they were the only four people in the universe at that moment. And from the looks on their faces, they felt the same way too. Sure, they could have beat on some other unfortunate kid as he left school that day. And if he hadn't been there at that particular moment, they would have done, it was in their nature. But he was their chosen victim at that point._

_He was close enough to see the expressions on their faces now and remained as poised as possible, cool, calm and collected, for he knew if he could read their expressions, then they could certainly read his. His confident walk was only slightly marred by the trembling tremors in his arms and he tightened the grip on the strap of his satchel even tighter in an attempt to stop this from being visibly noticeable. Bully number one, Peter Finlay, was grinning, though it was not pleasant. There was hatred laced in that grin and he had unfolded his arms and started to crack his knuckles, a forewarning gesture that was designed to scare the shit out of Kurt. Bully number two, Lee Bartley, could barely contain his malice; his hands had been bunched into fists and his whole body was shaking with an uncontrollable rage, as though the mere sight of Kurt simply _living_ offended him. But it was bully number three, Dane Kitcher, that truly unnerved him - so much so that for a split second the thought of stopping in his tracks and running in the other direction flashed across his mind..._

Kurt was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even realise the bathroom door was slowly opening, so it was lucky for him that it was not a teacher or mentor doing their nightly checks. His shoulders stiffened as he heard the tell-tale creaking sound of the door opening and turned around, only to breathe a small sigh of relief seeing Blaine enter the bathroom, letting the door behind him, wincing at the creaking it made. Kurt forced himself to remove all negativity from his mind and attempted to smile at Blaine, though he was sure it came out more like a grimace.

"Are you okay?" Blaine whispered.

Kurt nodded, though didn't verbally reply but as Blaine didn't seem convinced by this, he whispered back, "Yes." Blaine nodded, though he still seemed unsure, but didn't say anything after that and just stared into Kurt's eyes for a while. An uneasy feeling began to wash over him. "You should go back to bed," Kurt warned. "If they catch us in here we'll both be in deep shit."

Blaine smiled half-heartedly. "Karofsky's probably storming his way in here as we speak." But he made no attempt to leave. "Were you thinking about the fight?"

"Joseph got what was coming to him," Kurt replied automatically, as though he'd been waiting for Blaine to ask his opinion on it, even though it hadn't been dominating his thoughts at all. "He was asking for it, so I gave it to him. He's done."

A flicker of fear mixed with uncertainty crossed Blaine's face, though he attempted to smooth it out as soon as it had appeared. "I don't think he'll bother you again," he offered. Kurt nodded absent-mindedly. An uneasy silence followed this slightly doubtful statement but Kurt didn't bother to fill it, just didn't seem to have the energy to do so. Blaine seemed unsure of what to do or say next, so he delivered Kurt another half-hearted smile and reiterated his earlier question. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Kurt hesitated, and then: "I was... just thinking about my mom."

And those seven words that he blurted out before he even realised he had said them were enough to spring more tears to Kurt's eyes as he shook his head, as though trying to shake the memories away, and squeezed his eyes shut trying to squeeze the tears away, though neither actions fulfilled their purpose. He ran a hand through his hair and looked at the blurry figure of Blaine moving towards him through teary eyes. He thought Blaine was going to hug him, but instead he placed his hands on each of his shoulders and gently forced him to hold eye contact.

"It sucks, Kurt," Blaine said. "It sucks so bad, I _know_. But you can't blame yourself. And you can't keep punishing yourself because of it."

But Blaine didn't know. Blaine only knew what Kurt had told him through late night whispered conversations in their beds. He hadn't revealed everything. Hadn't revealed that because Kurt wasn't strong enough that she had suffered the ultimate and cruellest of fates...

"You are one of the strongest people I know, Kurt," Blaine continued earnestly, refusing to break eye contact with him. Blaine had the most wonderful chocolately deep brown eyes that Kurt was sure he could get lost in, should the circumstances have been different. "You really are. I knew it from the first day I saw you here. It was confirmed to me when you stood up in Science class and told that bastard Bickerly where to shove it, even though you knew he'd come down on you. Kurt, there's been too many 'Joseph's' here than I can remember, but you're the first person I've seen stand up to someone like that... you never cease to amaze me."

Kurt's eyes were leaking now and he was sniffing uncontrollably, certain in the knowledge that he must look grossly unattractive at that point. But he couldn't help it because Blaine was being so nice.

"You inspire me, Kurt," said Blaine. "And since you arrived, things feel different. I'm not sure how the hell we're going to get out of here but since you came here, I feel like there's hope. If you hadn't have come, I probably would have given up by now."

Kurt dissolved into further tears. Blaine was so kind and Kurt felt like he didn't deserve it yet had no strength to argue his point at that moment. Blaine took Kurt's silence as agreement with his words and cupped Kurt's chin with one hand, tilting his head so he was looking into Blaine's eyes. Blaine ran his thumb below Kurt's eyes gently, wiping the tears away. And it wasn't that the gesture alone was enough to make him stop crying, but he realised with a jolt that this was the closest contact with another guy he had ever had (not counting the unwanted advances of Karofsky and the other bastards at Dalton.) His breath hitched slightly as Blaine continued to rub his thumb under Kurt's eyes, almost absent-mindedly, before he traced it down Kurt's cheek and rested it on his bottom lip.

Kurt was looking into Blaine's eyes but could see further through them and when Blaine locked eyes with Kurt again, an invisible spark of something special shot between them and before he was even able to take it in properly, Blain had bridged the small gap between them and locked his lips on Kurt. For a split second, Kurt just stood there, eyes widened and his lips remaining static in surprise. When he came back to reality, he returned the kiss with as much vigour as Blaine, tongues sliding together messily and passionately, running his fingers through Blaine's hair as Blaine's hands travelled down to grip Kurt's ass and it didn't matter to Kurt that he had never done this before because everything he was doing and everything that was happening at that moment just felt so damn _right_.

Before either boy had time to come to his senses to realise that they were breaking the number one rule at Dalton Academy, the door to the bathroom was kicked open violently to reveal the huge, ugly figure of Banks. Kurt literally pushed Blaine off of him, but Blaine's face was frozen in fear to barely even register the pain in his back as it slammed against the wall. Banks was looking between them both, a look of pure disgust etched over his face at what he'd just witnessed, though he had slight beads of sweat on his forehead and a noticeable bulge was increasingly forming in his pants.

"Sir -" But that's all that Blaine managed to say before Banks stomped over and silenced him with a stinging backhand across his face. He stared at Blaine angrily before his attention turned to Kurt. "Get in bed, Hummel. Now."

Kurt shot one last look at Blaine before he silently made his way out of the bathroom. He tensed up as Banks shifted as he brushed past him, expecting to be hit or at least spat on.

But Banks did neither, for which Kurt was grateful for. But for the sounds from the bathroom of a hand slapping against bare ass followed by a whimper, and then a thanks from Blaine, Kurt was not.

* * *

><p><strong>Blahhh. No excuses. I know this has taken a long time to upload and I'm sorry. And I'm sorry for this chapter as well. One, because it's short and Two, because it's quite dull and nothing really happens (except for Blaine and Kurt's first kiss, yaaaay!) . I did want to extend it and to also include more stuff from later chapters in this one, but there was no way this would have been uploaded today if I had tried to write more, so I posted it like it is. Think of it as a filler chapter :D There will be more flashback scenes in upcoming chapters to fully map out the history and backstory of Kurt's mom and how she died. I'm also quite excited because I've worked out the entire timeline of this story and also how it's going to end. I was a bit unsure before of why exactly the reason Kurt was sent to Dalton, but I've got it all planned out now... I think!<strong>

**Everybody left signed reviews on the last chapter so you should have all received a reply to them by now.**

**I'm not sure what will be in the next chapter, so I won't do any teasers about what to expect in case it doesn't turn out the way I want it to. However, I'm like 90% sure that the Warblers will be in the next chapter. Good luck, Hummel! I think you're gonna need it! :S**

**Thank you once again and once again, I apologise for my slowness and will try and update quicker next time.**

**Johnny xo**


	11. The Awful Truth

**Hey. A quicker update than the last few. I know by anybody else's standards it took ages in between getting last chapter and this chapter up but I'm slow and crap and anyway, it's here now =] This chapter has a flashback scene which follows on from the flashback scene in the last chapter. And as this chapter follows directly after the last one I'll do a quick recap of what happened in it and the story so far: **

**Kurt and Joseph had a fight in Gym that afternoon which was arranged by Banks. Kurt beat Joseph and Joseph was dragged off to get his injuries checked out and hasn't been back to the dormitory yet. All the adrenalin running through him meant Kurt couldn't sleep that night so he got out of bed and went to the bathroom in the dormitory. Left alone with his thoughts, he started reminiscing about that day when he had been leaving school and ran into three bullies who had been making his life hell…**

**Blaine then entered the bathroom, disrupting his thoughts, and proceeded to reassure Kurt hat everything was going to be alright and that they would somehow make it out of Dalton. The two shared a moment and then kissed. Unfortunately, Banks chose that moment to enter the bathroom and ordered Kurt to go back to bed, leaving Banks alone in the bathroom with Blaine…**

* * *

><p>"Don't you fuck with me, Anderson."<p>

Kurt winced at the sound of a heavy boot connecting with somewhere on Blaine's body. Banks had been in the bathroom in the dormitory with Blaine for the past twenty minutes. Worryingly, Kurt hadn't heard any sounds (even those of pain) coming from Blaine for the last five and sincerely hoped he hadn't been beaten to unconsciousness. It wasn't uncommon. Teachers and mentors beat students into unconsciousness all the time. He had beaten Joseph into unconsciousness earlier that day. He didn't feel bad about that and was certain Banks didn't feel bad about this.

"Because you won't _live_ to regret it."

Another boot. Kurt was in bed and lying on his side, his back turned from the bathroom in a pitiful attempt it might help make Blaine's punishment a little easier for him to endure, although it of course didn't. Every time Blaine was hit, Kurt's own body curled up just that little tighter until he found himself in the foetal position. He imagined Blaine might be resembling a similar pose… Two minutes went by and no noise was coming from the bathroom anymore. None from Blaine but, nor from Banks…

Then the bathroom door was flung violently open and the fluorescent light from the bathroom flooded into the dorm. Kurt instantly clamped his eyes shut. He hated how he had to and did do, so automatically, but if Banks had spotted him watching (_spying_, he would have called it) then he may have dished out the same to Kurt, so he made sure he kept his eyes firmly shut because fear of punishment presided all at Dalton. He kept his facial features completely still and porcelain-like whilst making sure his breathing sounded naturally even. Kurt bet there was not one boy in that dormitory who was not awake (apart from maybe Blaine) because nobody could have slept through the sound of that beating, but he also bet that they, like himself, were all feigning sleep for the same reason. He heard the sound of the bathroom light cord being yanked and the faint light from the bathroom showing through his eyelids vanished into blackness, and it was after ten seconds or so that only then did he dare open his eyes - just a squint - to witness what was happening.

He wished he hadn't. Though it was dark he could still see the broad back of Banks making his way to the dormitory exit and literally _dragging_ a completely slumped and broken figure of Blaine behind him by a fistful of his hair. He watched as Banks easily tossed Blaine out into the corridor and then stepped out after him, shutting the dormitory door quietly.

Though it was safe now, Kurt shut his eyes again hoping to get away from it all, though since he had been transferred to this nightmare school, he could never, _ever _get away. Everything was so miserable and depressing at Dalton; the students literally beaten until they gave up and new kids not standing a chance against the longstanding strict regime that the Academy enforced. It made him think of the quote Joseph had tattooed on his arm after they attempted to stand up for themselves in science class: _The new boys are tender, the old ones sadistic_.

He wanted to stay awake in case Banks took Blaine back to the dormitory and Blaine needed help cleaning his wounds, but the silence in the room was so deafening that he forced himself to submit to sleep.

* * *

><p>It was the silence that killed Kurt the most. Compared to McKinley and compared to being out in the real world where real conversation was permitted to take place, Dalton Academy just seemed so quiet and so lifeless…<p>

He was currently sat in the grand dining hall at the designated table for dormitory thirteen, eating the cold, grey slop that was supposed to pass as breakfast, and it was so silent a pin could have been heard if one had dropped to the floor. The teachers and the mentors were of course allowed to talk amongst themselves and did so in mumbled undertones, in between eating their piping hot breakfasts cooked by whichever boys that had been assigned to kitchen duty that morning. Their tables were on a raised platform at the front of the hall; useful for all of them to cast an ever watchful eye over the students to make sure they were not doing anything they considered troublesome.

Kurt reluctantly forced another spoonful of slop down his throat and suppressed the urge to throw up. He had eaten what seemed like a thousand bowls of this stuff yet he still hadn't gotten used to the foul and bitter taste. It took everything inside of him not to gaze up to the staff table to watch them eat a decent meal with jealous longing. This was not an easy feat, especially as the glorious smells wafted down to the Dalton boys like unattainable gifts from the gods above.

Kurt had previously been able to fight the urges with somewhat ease because previously, dormitory thirteen had been seated at the back, away from the staff tables and he was therefore not close enough to drool over what he couldn't have. But with the absence of Wes, Joseph, and, since last night, Blaine, they had today been propelled to the front of the dining hall leaving dormitory seven, which looked like it had gained a new kid this morning, to sit at their old, bigger table.

He had awoken that morning and looked over to Blaine's bed, only to find it empty. And with Blaine not at breakfast and (after throwing a cautious glance to the staff tables as he entered the hall) finding Banks absent too, his heart had sank to his stomach. How could he and Blaine have been so utterly careless last night? For a teacher to catch students kissing? He had broken an unholy rule of Dalton. Even at the time, he _knew_ it was wrong…

_No_ He told himself fiercely. _It is _not_ wrong. Dalton is wrong_.

Joseph hadn't been seen either, since he was dragged from the gym after their fight yesterday. Kurt couldn't have cared less.

But it was the disappearance of Wes that was troubling him the most. He hadn't been in attendance for any of yesterday's classes and Kurt could only think that he must be locked in solitary confinement. Blaine had whispered warnings to Kurt about the horror of solitary confinement; how sitting in that dark pit underground as thoughts of never making contact with another human being again was enough to drive a person into temporary insanity.

Having to go through his first session with the ring on Sunday had been bad enough so Kurt felt glad that he hadn't had to go through solitary confinement yet; it sounded like torture.

He forced himself not to focus on the fact his mind automatically thought that he hadn't had to go through it _yet_. When it came to Dalton's twisted ways, _yet _seemed to be around every corner.

* * *

><p>After breakfast it was English, a class Kurt particularly hated thanks to the teacher, Bronson. Bronson referred to Kurt as ladyfag. He subjected Wes to blackfag, William to limpfag and alternated between various other insults for the others. Kurt wished he could inform Bronson of his own nickname for him - dumbuglycunt - but knew that that would only ever remain a wish. The classroom door suddenly opened, causing Kurt to snap out of his thoughts and look attentive. His composed demeanour faltered for a second though, when he saw Blaine stumble into the classroom thanks to a rough shove from Banks who had escorted him there, obviously finished with him. Banks nodded to Bronson in greeting and then shut the classroom door behind him. Blaine shuffled to his seat and even though every one of the boys in the classroom obediently stared straight ahead, all the attention in that room was focused on Blaine. He looked terrible - Banks had clearly done a real number on him. There was a dark blue bruise underlining his right eye and it had swelled up monstrously. There were faint lines of red down across his left cheek and his lips were swollen and bruised. He was walking with a noticeable limp and as Blaine took his seat at the desk in front of Kurt, he did so slowly and obviously with great pain, something which seemed to amuse Bronson.<p>

Though Bronson was identical to the rest of the teachers at Dalton in many ways, it was one particular thing about him that stood him apart from them. Whilst the others had an air of self-importance about them, like they were in this position because they truly had a mission to complete, to 'cure' the boys who passed through Dalton, Bronson just gave off the air that he was a man that was really, really lucky to have this job. Because it seemed like he found everything the boys had to go through at Dalton rib-ticklingly hilarious. And the fact that he could join in with these punishments _and_ get paid for it made it a dream role for him. The upside of this was that Bronson didn't beat them nowhere near as brutal as some of the other teachers could (who literally put their entire force in it to make sure the boys truly learnt their lesson) and he was never sexual in any way towards them.

"Would you rather me get a stool for you, faggot?" he smirked, in reference to Blaine's awkwardness at sitting in his seat. "Then turn it upside down so you can slide onto one of the legs like a bitch in heat to get yourself more comfortable?" He snorted in immature laughter at his own 'joke'.

Kurt wanted to clench his fists in anger but knew he couldn't in case the teacher spotted him doing it. So he sat there, impassively, with Bronson's laughter ringing in his ears and Blaine's pain emitting from his body and getting under Kurt's skin. The bubbling rush of rage simmering in the pit of Kurt's stomach at the injustice of it all belied the emotionless expression he wore on his face.

* * *

><p>Blaine was more hardened by the end of the day, Kurt could tell. All of the boys in dormitory thirteen were undressing by their beds and getting into their nightclothes. Banks was standing at the door, making sure the boys didn't touch, look or even glance at each other as they did so. Banks, however, was watching them all <em>very<em> intently and it made Kurt sick, especially when Banks insisted William had mumbled something to Anthony even though he hadn't, and made him get fully dressed, then undress again, just so he could enjoy a repeat performance.

Blaine had a completely blank look on his face but despite this, like in English earlier when Kurt could literally feel Blaine's pain, he could now feel Blaine's fury radiating from his body in waves. And Blaine was wearing the same blank mask on his face as Kurt had earlier. Kurt wondered, and hoped, that they were all wearing masks but deep down, he knew that the majority of the Dalton boys had long since been ground into complete submission. Whether it was through beatings, fear, or psychological damage, Kurt wasn't sure, but the result was some of the boys reverted back to an almost childlike status. The ratio in his own dormitory wasn't bad as only Anthony seemed like he was not all there, like he was hiding in a dark, black corner somewhere in the back of his mind, only coming to the forefront when presented with a question or an instruction by a member of staff. But some of the boys from other dormitories were so haunted by everything they had been put through, they couldn't even physically speak any more.

Once William was done and in bed, Banks grunted - his way of saying goodnight, Kurt supposed - and slammed the door shut. Kurt could still feel the anger pouring out of Blaine's body and it was for this reason he did not attempt to whisper to him until after almost an hour had passed.

"Are you alright?" Kurt had whispered this so quietly but whispers always sounded loud in the dead of night. He could tell Blaine was still awake by the sound of his breathing.

Blaine hummed in the affirmative but it wasn't good enough for Kurt.

"Banks didn't hold back?"

"He never does." Blaine's answers were short and to the point and Kurt could tell that he wasn't in the mood for talking, so was going to let the conversation drop, but then through the darkness, Kurt saw Blaine prop himself up on one elbow to face him, a sick, bitter grimace on his face. "We're never getting out of here, you know."

"Don't say that," Kurt said quietly. He knew Blaine was hurting, but he couldn't afford for him to bring him down into his pit of depression right now. "We'll get out of here, Blaine. Somehow."

Blaine snorted derisively. "How, Kurt? How will we get out of here, huh? Do you think Principal Lowry is just going to escort us to the exit, lead us through security, let us out into the open world and cheeringly bid us adieu?"

And Kurt wanted to reply, but he didn't have an answer because really, he didn't let himself think about it that long. Sure, he longed to go home, and often slipped into fantasies or daydreams about being there, only to suffer with crushing disappointment as he realised he was in fact still in this Dalton reality nightmare, but all in all, he just tried to survive day by day rather than think about the future. He'd been here for a month or so now and although it seemed like a lifetime, he didn't really think it _would_ last a lifetime. He'd be out soon enough. Wouldn't he? His dad wouldn't leave him here forever. Would he?

"I think you're wrong," Kurt said finally. He was careful to say this in an even but firm tone, as he knew Blaine was embittered over what he had gone through yet still wanted him to know that he wasn't going to tolerate his mood being dragged down to Blaine's level. This is what Dalton did to them and how the mood deteriorated so rapidly - last night it had been Blaine promising Kurt they'd be free of the school. "Even if we can't physically escape, our parents won't let us rot here," Kurt continued.

"Yeah right," Blaine spat. "Mine couldn't wait to get rid of me. And your dad willingly put you here just like all of the other parents willingly put us here, so yes, Kurt, they _would_ let us rot here. They probably think we deserve it."

Kurt was silent for a while before he replied in a small, tight voice: "I haven't wrote him a letter in weeks."

During his first week at Dalton, Kurt had wrote three letters, all detailing how psychotic the place was and how miserable it made him and how he was begging to come home. The students were not allowed unsupervised with pens and paper, so was forced to write it in the library, under the prying eyes of mentors. Karofsky mostly supervised him and Kurt could tell he was dying to look over his shoulder to see what he was writing, but he kept his distance until Kurt sealed the letter in an envelope and then took it from him wordlessly. He had been anxious to receive a reply but when one didn't come after the first, second or third letter he sent, his heart sank. And when a reply didn't come in his second week after the fourth, fifth and sixth letters he sent, he was less sure he was going to get one back. When nothing came after the seventh and finally the eighth, Kurt gave up altogether.

Blaine sneered. "They don't send any of the letters we write. They probably keep them and read them and laugh at them amongst themselves."

"If they don't send them, and nobody has heard anything from us, then why hasn't anybody got in contact with _us_?" Kurt retaliated.

"_How_ Kurt?" Blaine snapped. Again, all noise sounded loud at night, but Kurt winced at the sharpness in Blaine's voice and hoped that a member of staff wasn't on their way to the dormitory. "Are they trying to ring us on the cellphones we don't have? Or maybe sending us messages on our Facebook accounts that we don't have access to? They don't care about us."

Kurt shook his head. "My dad wouldn't stand for that. If he hadn't heard from me and couldn't get in contact with me, he wouldn't rest until he'd made it happen. No parent can say they truly love their child if they're prepared to let them waste away here."

An uncomfortable silence followed Kurt's implication before Blaine broke it by saying: "Your dad hasn't exactly broken down any doors to rescue you though, has he?"

Kurt didn't reply and knew the conversation was done, at least from his side of things. He also knew that whilst Blaine's words may have rang true and with a steely conviction, that the only reason Blaine was saying them was down to the own insecurities he felt with his own parents. Given late-night conversations they'd had in the past, Kurt had gathered that Blaine's relationship with his parents weren't anything like the one he had with his dad.

Still, after all the beatings and punishments he had endured at Dalton, Blaine's comment to him stung. A lot.

Kurt rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. His mind was racing and refusing to wind down and he knew that sleep was a long way away. Blaine's words kept buzzing in his head over and over, taunting and hurting him. Why hadn't his dad come for him?

"'_Sup, homo?"_

_The tone of Lee Bartley was neutral, though Kurt knew that his intentions were dangerous. The 'homo' insult left his lips in a conversational tone, as though that was actually his name. Kurt wasn't sure which was worse - when the bullies forced venom and spite into the insults or when they used them casually like it had been said so many times that it was second nature to them to associate those terms with him. _

_Kurt didn't respond. Being in such close proximity to the three guys who were currently making each day at school a living hell was making his heart beat so hard it was threatening to burst from his chest. The silence seemed to anger Peter Finlay, who seized Kurt by the shoulder and shoved him backwards. Kurt stumbled but with great effort managed to stay upright. He tightened the grip on his satchel and forced himself not to look down or cower away, even though he wanted to, and stared straight at them._

"_He's fuckin' talkin' to you, Hummel," Dane Kitcher snarled. "What? You think you're better than us, huh?" Another shove backwards. Given that they were near the gates of the school and it was the end of another school day, there were loads of people around but hardly any paid attention to the scene that was taking place around them. And those that did notice didn't seem bothered to what was going on, or at least were unwilling to get involved. Kurt wanted to scream in frustration. _

_Peter pushed him again and this time, Kurt fell squarely on his ass. Before he even realised what was happening, his satchel had been snatched away from him by one of the three guys - Kurt wasn't sure which - and then the contents of his bag were being tossed onto the concrete next to him. The guys laughter was cruel and mocking and Dane was providing a running commentary._

"_Let's see, we have a cellphone - nice model homo, but I don't want to catch any fag germs so I won't steal it from you." The phone was thrown carelessly to the floor and it would be a miracle if the screen hadn't have cracked. "Moisturiser… fucking _moisturiser! _You are so gay, Hummel." Dane lobbed it at his head laughing. Kurt wanted to cry but was sure as hell not giving them the satisfaction of seeing him do so. He would hold it in until he got home. Because he was a survivor. He was strong. He_ had _to be strong because if he showed weakness, they would have tortured him all the more. He was so much smaller than any of them and yet they had no qualms in a three-on-one situation. If he cared about any of them, he might have wondered if they were as strong as they made themselves out to be._

"_Diet pills. My god, Hummel, what the fuck is wrong with you? You're already as skinny as a twig. I could snap your entire body in half without breaking a sweat." They weren't diet pills, they were various vitamins that fulfilled various purpose, but Kurt didn't bother to explain. Keeping his mouth shut was much easier than trying to argue back. There was a time when he always argued back, but he had been pushed and pushed until he did so no more._

_The vitamins were flung to the ground and spilled out around him. Kurt felt like his life too was spilling out of control and he wasn't sure what, but something triggered off inside his head at that moment. It was like a light went off in his head, that he had to regain some control back over his own life, that he was tired of being pushed and poked and prodded into silent submission. Something inside of him suddenly snapped and as though he was having an out of body experience, he got to his feet slowly, stared at Dane wordlessly and then, with superhuman anger coursing through every single one of his veins and every stream of his blood, pushed Dane full on in the chest, causing the bigger guy to stumble back and fall onto his ass too._

_He stood there, breathing heavily, and sort of not believing what he had just done._

"_You fuckin' little shit," Dane snarled angrily, standing back up. "You are going to fuckin' PAY."_

_Survival instinct kicked in and Kurt shoved through Lee and Peter and started running like crazy, leaving his bag and the items from it on the floor. He could live without them. He couldn't live without his life. The sound of his military boots pounding the concrete as well as those of the three guys chasing after him caused more people to look up now and notice what was going on. Kurt could hardly see the faces of them as he passed them by in a blur, but did notice some people looking concerned or sympathetic. But they were not helping. _

_Kurt wanted to blame them, but couldn't. There had been a number of times in the past when he had slunk past some other guy getting beat up by these three, making it home safely and then thanking his lucky stars that they had been too busy with someone else to notice him that day, so it would have been unfair and hypocritical of him to be genuinely angry with those that didn't step in._

_He charged out of the school gates and started running down the street, angry yells and threats from the three guys getting closer and closer. If it was an open field or he had space to run, he might have just been able to escape from them. Kurt was great at running. If he hadn't have been tortured so much in the locker room, he might have even stayed on the track team when he attempted to join earlier that year. But on the street, having to navigate through people and look out for traffic, he was slower than usual and dread shot through every inch of his body as he felt fingers curling on the back of his jacket, before he was bodily slammed into a thick tree trunk. His eyes blurred for a moment and he sank in big gulps of air having had it knocked out of him at the impact. When his eyes focused again, he was met with cars and buses speeding down the street behind the hulking figure of Dane in front of him, physically _shaking _with rage. Lee and Peter were hovering in the background, watching the event unfold, though they were throwing cautious glances to each other, maybe knowing that if Dane didn't keep his temper in check, he could end up doing some serious damage… maybe even permanent. And that wasn't cool with witnesses around._

"_Fuckin' stupid bitch," Dane spat. "You wanna fight me? Huh?" The statement was concluded with a punch to Kurt's gut. The hit was so hard, Kurt automatically slumped in on himself, but Dane had other ideas and wrapped his fingers around Kurt's throat and used it as leverage to prop him back up ready for another go. He drove his fist again into Kurt's stomach and Kurt thought he was going to vomit. Would anybody stop this?_

_And then._

"_HEY!" The voice rang loud, angry and disbelieving at what was going on. But instead of feeling relief, Kurt's heart sank even lower. That was his mom's voice._

_From the corner of his eye, Kurt saw Lee and Peter walk off quickly, clearly not wanting to have anything to do with a potentially troublesome situation. Dane threw a glance in his mom's direction, who was slamming her car door shut and rushing over, his fingers still wrapped around Kurt's throat. As he saw her getting closer, he squeezed tight so that Kurt's air supply started to get cut off. Kurt didn't even have any strength to attempt to throw him off because the size difference was that great._

"_GET OFF OF HIM!"_

"_It may be over this time, Hummel, but I'll get you back for this," Dane insisted warningly, in a low and dangerous voice. "I'll beat you into a fuckin' coma." He released the grip he had on Kurt and with one last steely gaze, turned on his heel and walked away. Kurt sank to a sitting position on the floor and hugged his knees._

"_Oh my god, Kurt!" His mom was all over him, her hands cupping his face forcing him to turn his head to look at her so she could examine if any serious damage had been done. And Kurt wasn't sure what it was, because he was usually so good at keeping his emotions in check and his feelings bottled up, but today he couldn't keep up the facade. It might have been the fact that his mother, so kind, so warm and so trusting, was so shocked at seeing him in this state that it broke his heart, her familiar lovely scent out of place in the crushing black pit that was his school life. He felt shattered. He had always been fragile but now it was like he had been broken into a million little pieces and the floodgates just opened, and silent, shaming tears cascaded down his cheeks. And that was enough for Elizabeth Hummel to completely lose it._

_Kurt could see the conflict in her eyes, of wanting to keep Kurt safe yet wanting to go after the guy who had reduced her boy to tears. Her angry side won. With a torn look, and a final squeeze of Kurt's shoulder, she whirled around to face the retreating figure of Dane. _

"_COME HERE!"_

_Dane turned around, smirked, and stuck his middle finger up at her, and then turned back in the direction he was walking without breaking his stride. Kurt shakily managed to get up, yet he leaned back against the tree trunk for support, unsure of whether his legs could support his own weight at that moment. His throat was sore and it scratched and burned as he called his mother to come back, but she didn't hear him. _

"_GET BACK HERE OR I WILL CALL THE POLICE!"_

_If the scene hadn't perked everybody's interest it certainly had now. At the mention of the police, the bystanders who hadn't done so already whipped out their phones and cameras recording what was unfolding in front of them. Elizabeth was running now, determined to make Dane pay for what he did. Kurt felt sick but pushed off against the tree trunk and went after her, pushing past the mindless drones filming the drama. He saw his mom grab a hold of Dane's shoulder and saw red when Dane brushed her off angrily, causing her to stumble back. It wasn't intentional, he could see that much even through his anger, it was just the sheer size of Dane that made her trip, but the act in itself looked aggressive and it pushed him to get to her faster. _

_She had a look of disbelief on her face at the disrespect Dane had just shown her and she watched him cross the street to begin the walk home. It looked like she was going to go after him, but Kurt had reached her now and forced her to turn to him by grabbing hold of her sleeve._

"_What the hell, Kurt?" She was angry, humiliated, but most of all, hurt. And Kurt felt so ashamed at subjecting her to this. This was meant to be his own private hell; not something that she should have ever been witness to. Yes, it was hard and yes, he didn't want to go through it, but that was tough. But _she _shouldn't have had to go through it, and neither should his dad. This was his mountain to climb. The burden shouldn't have to fall to anybody else. "How long has this been going on for?" she demanded._

_Kurt shook his head. "Mom, just leave it." _

"_No! Something needs to be done about this. That boy needs to know he can't treat people that way."_

"_Mom, please." He said this in quieter tones, horribly aware of the increasing amount of phones and gadgets faced in his direction to capture the moment that would no doubt be played back to him over and over again tomorrow at school. "Lets go home and talk about it," he added, trying to diffuse the situation and take it somewhere private. _

_Elizabeth shook her head angrily. "This stops. Right now." She wrenched her sleeve out of his grip and stepped out in between two parked cars. Dane had crossed over and was strolling along slowly, like he hadn't got a care in the world. The street was rammed as usual full of people leaving the school premises. Why was she even here? Kurt had vehemently and repeatedly enforced the rule that neither of his parents were ever to show up at the school gates - to avoid them being involved in a scene like this. _

"_Mom, I'm okay. Really!"_

_She spun around to face him. "You are not okay, Kurt! Look at the state of you!" She turned back round and shouted to the retreating figure of Dane, "YOU ARE A COWARD, YOUNG MAN!"_

_Dane could have pretended not to hear. Or could have refused not to retaliate. But had Dane done either of those things; he'd have been a different guy to what he was and therefore probably wouldn't have given Kurt the hard time he had done in the first place. But Dane, predictably, stopped in his tracks and faced them, from across the street._

"_AND YOUR SON IS A FAGGOT, OLD WOMAN!" He shouted back in reply, mocking her._

_Elizabeth reeled back like she had been slapped in the face. Kurt knew what it felt like. He had been called that word ever since he was little and way before he knew what it meant. And when he got older and first realised the term was an insulting and derogatory one, he still remembered the complete ice-cold shock at being called it, the heart-wrenching humiliation of being forced to stand there and take it, whilst others looked on and laughed or joined in. He supposed it might have been even worse for her, made to hear her son, her only child, being insulted like that_. This _is why he didn't want his parents here. They thought that the prank phone calls they received (the ones where he couldn't get to the phone first and then lie and say it was just some unwanted cold caller) and the furniture-nailed-to-the-roof debacle were just isolated incidents. They didn't know he went through this stuff every day and he didn't_ want _them to know. Because now he had put that look of hurt on his mother's face and he felt completely shit and full of self-loathing because of it. _

_Elizabeth shook her head and walked into the road determinedly to confront Dane once and for all. There was a screeching of tires and a sound of a horn being blasted but all Kurt heard was the sound of his mom's body hitting the concrete. He stood there, paralysed, transfixed in appalled horror as a gathering crowd surged forward to witness the damage. A white static sort of noise filled his ears and infiltrated his head and the scene turned to grey, as though all the colours and brightness in the world faded as his mom's life did the same. He staggered over to her, silent tears running down his cheek and his hand clamped over his mouth as though he was going to be sick. He sank down onto his knees next to her body. Thick liquid that Kurt knew was blood despite the greyness was seeping out from underneath her skull, but even though her body was still, her eyes were flickering and that was enough to give Kurt a chance._

_A woman - forty or so - pushed through and knelt down beside him_.

"_Don't touch her," she warned. Her voice sounded hazy and far away. "I've called an ambulance, they'll be here soon."_

Now you want to fucking help? _He thought bitterly. He wanted desperately to hold her hand, but knew the woman was right, he couldn't touch her, and so had to be content with just staring into her flickering eyes, praying, pleading that she would open her eyes and make it through this. He looked up to see if the ambulance was on its way. The amount of devices facing him and the accident was hurtful, especially as he always dreamed that one day he would be famous and the cameras would love him and so far in his life, right now seemed to be the most famous he had ever been._

Kurt rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling of the dormitory. He was uncomfortable, he always was when he thought of the day his mom died, and there was a tightness in his chest he could not get rid of. It was pain. Pain caused by the thought that Blaine might be right and that his dad wouldn't be rescuing him from this hellhole any time soon.

* * *

><p><strong>Hmm, not sure about this one. I was trying to spread the content out throughout the chapters but all the stuff here had to be included in this one to set up the future instalments, but I'm not sure If I'm pleased with the outcome. Blah. Hope you enjoyed it anyways : ) Hopefully the next chapter will be better (and come quicker) and if all goes to plan them I'm particularly looking forward to writing thirteen cos I've got some stuff planned :D <strong>

**However. This is what I wrote on the authors notes at the end of the last chapter:**

"_I'm not sure what will be in the next chapter, so I won't do any teasers about what to expect in case it doesn't turn out the way I want it to. However, I'm like 90% sure that the Warblers will be in the next chapter_."

**Yet were they in this chapter? No. Lol. I am about about 99.999% sure they will be in the next chapter though… I think! Also, I think there will be one more flashback scene continuing on from what happened on that day in either the next chapter or the one after but I'm not sure yet. I'm still not sure how many chapters this story is going to have, but from chapter one to this chapter, the story has only spanned literally a couple of days (chapter one - Sunday, chapter eleven - Wednesday) and as the story started after Kurt had been at Dalton for a little longer than a month, he's been at Dalton for roughly five weeks, not even a full term yet. Eek. And he's been so ground down already.. (but ****not**** defeated by a long shot.)**

**Also, from a user on here, I've just discovered that the lead singer from one of my favourite bands (my username comes from the opening line from one of their songs) died around this time last year. I had no idea but :( RIP, love xxx**

**Johnny x**


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